Seeing The Shadows
by CailleachOidhche
Summary: Sarah travels to Ireland and finds herself struggling with the shadows of her past.
1. Prologue

_I do not own Sarah, Jareth, or any other characters from Labryinth. The rest are mine. The poem quoted at the beginning of some chapters is from T.S. Eliot's "Four Quartets." _

_- Cailleach Oidhche_

_-----------------------------_

_**Prologue**_

_Sarah was gazing at a sky...but not the blue sky she had seen her whole life, no, this sky was a dusty red: the sky of a different world. She was standing on that hill once more, and ahead were the high stone walls that bordered the labyrinth. The labyrinth... It was longing that pulled her forwards to the gates, made her walk forward...the gates were there...she couldn't resist, she..._

...snapped back to consciousness.

The pilot's voice was making a loud incoherent announcement to the passengers on the plane. It was always impossible to tell what they were saying, and the thick Irish accent just made it harder. Very few people listened anyway. The packing up going on around her told her what she needed to know: it was close to landing time. She sighed and shifted the grey blanket covering her aside. It had been a long flight and she was anxious to be on the ground again, free of the droning that had been a constant noise in her head for the past six hours. She was weary, her conflicted internal clock was telling her it was time to be asleep but her mind was completely unable to relax. During the flight she had been unable to achieve anything resembling a restful sleep. She stretched her limbs as far as she could in the narrow seat gratefully and looked eagerly out the window, wondering if they were low enough yet to see the ground. Unfortunately the plane was tilted slightly and all she could see was the early morning sky, then it tilted even further with a nauseating movement. She closed her eyes and her tired mind recalled images from her dream.

She had been having these dreams for six years now. The strange thing was that they seemed to be getting stronger as time went on, not weaker in the manner of most childhood fantasies. When she woke she could sill hear the echoes of voices in her head, still smell the deep earthy smell of the moss and the tress, and those eyes lingered, blazing into her waking mind: those strange mismatched eyes. More than just that, though, details became clearer as new areas of the labyrinth were discovered in the dreams, and other parts, as will happen in the passage of time, were forgotten. The faces of old friends faded and she couldn't understand why.

Six years ago she had been so certain that her strange adventure had truly happened, that she had faced many dangers and fear in order to save her brother, and along the way had made wonderful friends who helped her solve the labyrinth and promised that they would come to her whenever she called.

Only they never came. They came to her just once, right after she had faced the king and returned home with her brother, only then but never after. She was confused and tried for a long time to call them, calling in different ways, wondering if she had somehow got it wrong. Words were important, she had learned that, and she spoke them carefully, searching for every meaning that could be hidden. Nothing. Eventually she had only her written account of what happened, a testimony that with the passing years began to sound like nothing more than a story created and obsessed over by an adolescent mind. She had hidden it, along with her "Labyrinth" book, the thing that had inspired the whole thing and told herself to focus on the real world.

She still dreamt, and the dreams never ceased.

She rubbed her temples and sighed. She always got a little dehydrated on long flights, and now she had a massive head ache. She was looking forward to having a long drink of good cool water once she landed. She was also looking forward to stretching out and sleeping properly in a bed.

_-----------------------------_


	2. 01 Time present and time past

"_Time present and time past  
Are both perhaps present in time future,  
And time future contained in time past."_

_**Chapter 1** **- Time Present and Time Past**_

Sarah woke up slowly when the light filtering through the window fell across her eyes. She was disoriented for a moment; she had slept away most of the previous day and on through the night. Once or twice her aunt Morna had come to bring her food or check to make sure she was well, but for the most part Sarah was left alone to sleep of the jet-lag, for which she was grateful. She still felt a little weary from traveling, but she forced herself to sit up anyway not wanting to spend all of her time sleeping.

She gazed around the room, really seeing it for the first time. When she had arrived early yesterday morning all she had noticed was that there was a bed, and then all she wanted to do was sleep in it. Now she slowly took in its appearance. The room was small, but cozy. It, like the rest of the house, was somewhat rustic looking: the bed she was sitting on had a carved wooden headboard and had been made up with white sheets and covered with a soft quilt. The quilt was faded but still beautiful, a blend of autumn reds, oranges, and yellows. Sarah suspected it was hand-made, propbably by Morna. A desk and a chair of the same type of wood as the bed sat in the opposite corner of the room, and beside it was a large window facing east, hung with dark dark grey curtains. The light glowed through the space between the two curtains.

_Quaint._ That was the word that came to Sarah's mind. It was very quaint, and a welcome change from the cinder-block walls and hard to open windows of the dorm that she had been waking up to for the past two years. It was so nice to wake up to the sound of the breeze and the birds as opposed to the loud bass music of the person living above her or the sound of the couple next door occupying themselves in other ways.

Sarah pushed back the covers and walked to the window. Her dark blue nightgown rustled around her feet as she walked, she was amazed that she had stayed awake long enough to even change into it. She pulled the curtains aside and looked outside. She could clearly see the deep blue morning sky, and the grass; the grass was so very green. Back at home in upstate New York the grass was its tired October brown, but here the grass was still green. There was a very large maple tree just to the right of her window, and the way the branches reached out, almost draping themselves over her window, made her think of warm comforting arms.

A movement on the ground drew her attention. She glanced down and saw Aunt Morna moving up the path towards the door, pausing every now and then to check on the progress of the flowers and vegetables growing in the garden patches around the path, the nodding or shaking of her head indicating whether or not she was pleased. She was wearing a simple grey skirt with a purple sweater and her white hair was loosely done up in a bun, little strands blowing around her face in the breeze.

Sarah smiled to herself. Aunt Morna. When Sarah met her at the Cork International Airport Aunt Morna had immediately wrapped Sarah in a deep hug and began talking quickly, inquiring urgently about how comfortable Sarah's travel was, and how hungry and tired she was. Sarah was only able to catch bits and pieces of these questions as Aunt Morna's accent was very thick and Sarah was so unbelievably tired. She was then quickly whisked off to Morna's home in a village called Tarnathy, which was about forty minutes from Cork. Sarah dozed most of the way there and only woke up long enough to be shown to her room where there was the bed she longed for.

Aunt Morna wasn't technically her aunt. She was some sort of relation of her step-mother, Karen, and was really some sort of great distant cousin or something of that sort, but she was called Aunt Morna by the family. It had been Karen's idea for Sarah to visit. After such a rocky start to their life as a family Sarah had grown close to Karen, ever since that strange night. Karen had been there for her when she was upset, while she couldn't understand the full pain that Sarah was feeling - the fear that she was going crazy, that she had lost something that never really existed - Sarah was grateful for her concern and she formed a deep bond with Karen. Her own mother didn't ever return her calls, and she had stopped trying to contact her at all by the time she was eighteen.

Her father and Karen were amazed at the transformation that, to them, had come suddenly out of nowhere. They had left an angry drama queen of a girl that night to watch her baby brother, and had come back to find a young woman who was calm and loving towards her new brother and step-mother. Her father couldn't resist joking "Who are you, and what have you done with Sarah?" Things did go well for awhile: Sarah did better in school than she had done in ages, and she even started to make friends and go out on dates, but as time moved father away from that night she began to find real life harder. As hard as she tried to be involved with everything going on, part of her was still trapped in the labyrinth. She dreamed about it at night and thought about it while she was awake, then berated herself for not letting go of childhood fantasies.

When Sarah was accepted at an excellent liberal arts college she thought that she might finally be able to sort herself out and move forward. She'd finally be free from public high school and at a place where she could work on her art and writing with other like-minded people.

It was great at first, she made friends with other writers and painters, went to parties, and was free to work on her own writing; but even with such people she found she was still absorbed by thoughts of the labyrinth and all the creatures there. Occasionally she would drop some subtle hints that only another who had traversed anything like the Labyrinth would understand, but all she got was a few strange looks and laughs. By her second year she began to feel her old loneliness creeping in again. She lost interest even in the things she enjoyed; writing, painting, reading. She tried, but she would look at a blank sheet of paper or canvas and feel no inspiration, nothing. She didn't want to do anything but sleep and dream. She dreamt of her friends, adventures, and him...the one with those eyes...those beautiful eyes, and that voice...Her grades suffered and she was sent to the psych services at her school to talk to some old jaded psychiatrists used to hearing the mutterings of art students, ready with their long lists of medications. Sarah hated the pills, they always made her feel really tired or really edgy, sometimes to the point of paranoia. The only happiness she felt was when she was far from the world of academia and able to come home and play with Toby, who had grown into a bright little boy. Even though he obviously wouldn't remember the Labyrinth, or anything he would have seen there, she found a comfort in spending time with the only other person who had been involved in her adventure.

Her father and step-mother became more and more worried about her until finally Karen suggested that Sarah take a year off from college. Her grades were suffering to the point where if she continued she would almost certainly fail. Sarah felt torn, the thought of trying to slouch her way through another semester exhausted her, but what else could she do? Where else could she go? She didn't want to stay home, that would be even worse. Karen came up with the idea. Karen had a relative, an old aunt of sorts who lived in a small village in Ireland, and she would almost certainly welcome having Sarah's company in her home, she was always telling Karen that her family needed to come visit her. A change of scenery might help and, after all, Karen said, Sarah had so loved old fairy tales when she was younger, and what better place for fantastical tales that Ireland? Perhaps it would help to inspire Sarah's old imaginative side to emerge again. After a long talk with her advisor it was decided that Sarah would officially do something like a semester abroad and independent study together. While she was over there she would write three lengthy essays about the area of Ireland where she would be staying and a long creative piece. She would have to send work regularly to her advisor as if she were in a class and he would decide on the amount of credits she would have earned.

The door downstairs opened and closed as Aunt Morna entered the little house. Sarah closed the curtains again and searched around the room for her suitcase. The cool breeze that came in through the window felt deliciously good, and as Sarah pulled on a pair of jeans and a long sleeve black shirt she felt better than she had in a very long time. She glanced quickly into the mirror hanging on the wall and headed to the stairs.

She hesitated before the door to the kitchen. Even though she had met Aunt Morna yesterday, and had been in her home for a whole day now, she was still a stranger to her, and she felt suddenly shy. She stood uncertainly for a moment or two but finally found her courage, there certainly wouldn't be any point to hiding on the stairs during her whole time in Ireland just because she was nervous about talking to a step-relative. After all, she had once managed to befriend much stranger creatures than old ladies with accents. She smiled to herself in silent amusement. Then again she did meet one old lady that scared her a whole lot more than the giant rock-summoning monster, talking hands, or the crazy fox knight with a sword had.

Her smile faded. Once again she had caught herself confusing dreams and reality. She sighed and massaged her for-head for a moment. This inner conflict exhausted her mentally, but she pulled herself together and walked through the door to the kitchen.

Aunt Morna gave Sarah a warm smile when she entered.

"So you are awake! I was beginning to worry you had fallen into an enchanted sleep from which only a great hero in full armor on a noble white steed would be able to come and wake you."

Sarah smiled.

"Unless jet-lag has fallen under the category of enchantment I'm pretty sure normal exhaustion was to blame."

"Well that's a relief. Those white steeds always trample my garden, and the heroes _never_ remember to take off their filthy boots before rescuing damsels from my tower. Very inconsiderate of them I must say."

Sarah laughed and felt herself relax.

"Have a seat, dear, there's tea if you want it, or I can make you some coffee, I know how you Americans like to have your coffee. I think there's some in the back of the freezer."

"I'd love a cup of tea." Sarah said, and as Morna busied herself with the kettle Sarah took a long look around the kitchen. It was a very bright room, there were several windows in the wall along with the front door and the morning light was spilling in through the glass. Most of the kitchen was taken up by a large wooden table that looked from the deep scratches on its surface as if it was used for cooking as much as dining. The kitchen connected directly to a living room that had a chair and a couch, both shabby but comfy looking, facing a fireplace. The mantle contained some framed photographs and various knick-knacks, mostly little stones and little carved figures. Sarah was looking at a little carved owl when she realized that Morna was speaking.

"...take you myself of course but you'll have more fun with them than my old bones could provide, I imagine."

"Sorry, what?"

Aunt Morna came over to Sarah's seat and handed her a steaming cup of tea and a plate with a hunk of bread and fried egg. Sarah began to eat gratefully and sip the hot tea. It was marvelous, it tasted fresh and rich, not like the boxes celestial seasonings tea Karen always kept in the cupboards back at home. This was real tea.

"I was just saying since you're finally up and about Bridget and Ronan will be wanting to show you whats what in Tarnathy, and it'll give you a chance to get to know some others or your own age."

"Bridget and Ronan?" she asked pausing after swallowing a mouthful of the delicious bread.

"Neighbors. They live down the road a ways. Bridget is about your age I think, and her brother, that's Ronan, is sixteen. Bridget's a sweet girl, a little too serious at times, but a very sweet girl. She's attending the University of Cork, but she lives at home so you'll see her on the weekends and some evenings. And Ronan..." here Morna chuckled quietly. "Well, I reckon you'll get to know that little rogue well enough."

Sarah wondered what Morna meant by that, but she continued to drink her tea and answered Morna's inquiries about how the family was doing back at home and how big Toby was by now.

-----------------------------

Just as Sarah was finishing up her third cup of tea and Morna was just in the middle of explaining to Sarah how to keep Rosemary hearty indoors during the winter when there was a knock on the door.

"Come in!" Morna called cheerfully to the door.

The door swung open to reveal a girl with chin-length brown hair and light blue eyes. She was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a light blue turtle neck. A bag was slung over her shoulder which she set down on the floor by the door in order to hug Morna. She then saw Sarah and she smiled happily and moved across the room quickly to shake her hand.

"You must be Sarah!"

"And you must be Bridget." Sarah said with a grin shaking the girl's hand.

Bridget laughed.

"I am indeed, and my brother is..." she looked behind her for a moment, confused for about a second, and then simply rolled her eyes. "...around here somewhere." she finished with an exasperated sigh.

Morna chuckled and Bridget gave her a wry smile.

"Is this something he does a lot?" Sarah asked.

"Not this specifically...but it's the sort of thing he likes to do." Bridget explained with a mixture of annoyance and amusement.

"He's a mischievous little imp, a little leprechaun." Morna said fondly. "He'll appear soon enough. Have a seat, Bridget, there's tea and this bread needs to be before it goes stale."

Bridget sat down and accepted a steaming mug from Morna and cut herself a slice of bread and spread a generous amount of strawberry jam on it.

"So...umm...what do you study.?" Sarah asked lamely feeling the need to strike up some sort of conversation with this girl.

This topic obviously pleased Bridget a great deal. She launched into an explanation of her scientific studies in which she was studying the plants and geological features and how they resembled other areas of the world and what that meant about the development about the earth. Sarah paid attention at first, making polite sounds of interest and giving the right questioning looks at the various moments where they were expected, but soon she found it hard to listen to why this sort of rock was so different from that and her mind began to wander. She watched the sun playing on the glass in the window, and examined the flowers and herbs that Morna had hanging to dry.

Sarah suddenly realized that there was a fourth person in the room sitting to her right. She nearly jumped out of her chair, startled to see a boy with red hair and the same brilliant green eyes that Morna had. His face was speckled generously with freckles and he had the look of someone who grinned and laughed almost constantly. He looked as if he had been sitting there for quite awhile.

"Boo." the boy said, grinning and wiggling his eyebrows.

"Sarah, meet my brother, Ronan." Bridget said matter-of-factly, finally halting her explanation of the type of earth found in that area of Ireland.

"Where did you come from?" Sarah asked, still trying to recover her wits.

He spread his hands out dramatically. "I came from the very wind, I was summoned by the rain and the stones. I existed in the world of the spirits and emerged onto this plane of existence through a shimmering door of sunlight."

"He came in through the window." Bridget explained.

He shrugged and graced them with another one of his wicked grins. "Same thing really."

"Well, since you've finally decided to appear." Bridget said testily. "We can show Sarah Tarnathy." she finished the rest of her tea with a quick gulp and stood up. "Thanks for the tea, Morna."

"You just make sure Sarah enjoys herself today."

"Oh we will...we will..." Ronan's eyes glittered with the promise of plenty of mischief from him.

-----------------------------


	3. 02 Tarnathy

"_...In succession  
Houses rise and fall, crumble, are extended,  
Are removed, destroyed, restored, or in their place  
Is an open field, or a factory, or a by-pass.  
Old stone to new building, old timber to new fires,  
Old fires to ashes, and ashes to the earth..."_

_**Chapter 2 - Tarnathy**_

Tarnathy was unlike anything Sarah had ever seen back home in the U.S., she felt her mind reeling with all the things she was trying to take in at once. Little things that she had seen almost every day of her life - the grass, the sun, and the trees - seemed different for reasons she couldn't quite put her finger on. Maybe it was the shade of green of the grass, the curve of the branches towards the sky, or even the amount of light from the sun, but it felt a little like she was in a different world. It wasn't just the natural world that felt different, though, it was also the houses, the buildings, the people: the whole general way of life. Back home she was used to the rush that always seemed to be relentlessly carrying most of America in thousands of directions. She had been to New York City many times, both as a child when her actress mother was still a part of her life, and later as a college student; her school was not far away and students went there frequently for class projects, art openings, or simply for the fun of a big city. She was always struck by how every person seemed to be in a desperate hurry to get _somewhere_; food was grabbed and eaten quickly on the move, cars honked, and people complained in the subway when the train was delayed.

This place was different. She felt like there was _time_ here, time to take in what she was seeing, to walk slowly, to hold a conversation with people and not have to be constantly _moving. _Bridget and Ronan introduced her to many of the people they encountered (Sarah quickly gave up trying to remember every single name she heard) and the impression she got from many of them was that they lived their lives in Tarnathy because it was a place they loved and not just where the lottery of life had dropped them. It looked as if life was lived here much in the same way it had for generations, and she was finding out that there were families that had been there for more generations than they knew. It was a very content place; no desperate need for change.

Not that it was completely untouched by the modern world; it certainly wasn't the cliche of some old village straight out of the 1600s where everybody rode horses, made their own clothing, and relied solely on their crops and hunting for food, not at all. The road was obviously built for horses originally, but it had long since been adapted for the use of cars, and there were wooden houses that looked like they had been built very recently alongside the older ones made of stone that looked as if they had stood firmly for generations. Then there were the old houses that had had renovations done, a subtle mix of both the old and modern, and there was of course electricity and telephones.

However, even with the presence of the modern world, Tarnathy still had a wonderful atmosphere of history that intrigued Sarah.

Bridget pointed out interesting stores and restaurants and places that she thought were of immense historical interest. Ronan, on the other hand, kept pointing out people and making jokes about them, telling amusing anecdotes about how this one neighbor is constantly waging war on the squirrels invading his bird-feeder, how that one wears the ugliest hat in existence (a knitted orange thing), or the one who was a professor at Cork and how once his students broke into his car and as a prank filled it entirely with popcorn peanuts. Ronan also had a tendency to appear and disappear: one moment he was walking ahead of them happily singing some song, and then he was reappearing from off to the side or behind them, making some sort of light hearted comment that would irritate Bridget right in the middle of one of her serious speeches about the use of stone over wood in buildings, or how difficult it was to install electricity in that old building over there. Sarah was beginning to understand why Morna had described Bridget as being a little too serious.

"That's a tea shop there, run by an elderly woman named Mrs. Mulligan." Bridget said pointing to an old squat stone house.

"She's a real nutter."

Ronan had appeared again.

Bridget continued as if he hadn't spoken. "She grows her own herbs and dries them for loose teas, that's what she uses most of the house for. The front part began as a small tea room where she originally just served teas."

"She's ancient, most likely she was here to greet the invading vikings." Ronan piped up.

"She knows a lot about old herbal folk remedies, I think she's even written a book on it."

"As a matter of fact, I think she came over with the vikings and they were so afraid of her that they left her here and got the hell out as fast as they could. For many years she had only the plants for company..."

"She used to mix a lot of teas to help with things like colds, flu, or stress, and that's really how she got the tea room started."

"I think that's what drove her crazy, having nothing but valerian root to talk to for centuries..."

"It started as a store, then she started serving teas, making some extra money."

"I personally prefer the company of echinacea." Ronan said knowledgeably. "It tells better jokes.

"Since then several of the front rooms have been turned into an entire cafe, they serve coffees as well as teas and really good homemade sandwiches."

"Nobody really knows who Mr. Mulligan was, if he ever even existed."

"I had a job there for a summer, it was really nice but I became very addicted to caffeine."

"I think she ate him." Ronan confided solemnly.

Sarah burst out laughing, and Bridget finally turned to give her brother an exasperated look.

"Ronan..." she was clearly struggling for words, which just made him grin. "_Honestly!_"

"Am I ever not honest?" he asked cheekily. "Nobody could possibly accuse _me_ of _lying_."

"Oh really Just last night you promised you wouldn't wake me up by singing at the crack of dawn anymore if I did the dishes for you, but sure enough you were at it - _at five thirty in the morning!"_

"No no dear sister," Ronan said holding up his hand. "I promised not to sing what you call "_that damned song"_, so early in the morning, so I _didn't_ sing "that damned song," I sang something else. I kept my promise."

"You knew what I meant!"

"You should have thought carefully and been more specific." he wiggled his eyebrows. "I have the logic of a leprechaun, I'm friend to the faeries, I'm gifted by the goblins..."

A shiver ran up Sarah's spine.

"...and it's not the crack of dawn now, so I am, by our deal, allowed to sing "that damn song" _now._"

He proceeded to launch himself into what sounded like an old irish song:

_"In the town of Athy one Jeremy Lanigan _

_Battered away 'til he hadn't a pound. _

_His father died and made him a man again _

_Left him a farm and ten acres of ground. _

_He gave a grand party for friends and relations _

_Who didn't forget him whe..."_

"_Stop._" Bridget took a breath and said through gritted teeth, "If only they weren't just superstitions, because sometimes I wish the goblins _would_ come and ta-"

"Stop!"

Bridget and Ronan looked at Sarah with surprise.

"Don't...ever...say...that." Sarah gasped out, ordering her lungs _not _to start hyperventilating.

"Sarah...are you okay?" Ronan asked carefully.

Sarah closed her eyes and forced her mind to calm down. She realized she must seem completely crazy to them right now.

"I'm fine, I just...well...I...I..er...I was afraid of goblins as a little kid." she lied lamely. "Sometimes I still get...creeped out...at the thought...I guess." she shrugged and tried to smile but it probably looked more like a grimace. "I don't know why it would suddenly startle me again after all these years..."

"You're probably still tired from your journey." Bridget said rationally.

"Yeah. That's probably it."

Ronan was clearly unconvinced but, amazingly enough, didn't say anything.

"So, where to now?" Sarah asked brightly, hoping they would drop the subject.

Happily, they did.

"Hmm..." said Bridget thinking. "You've seen most of the interesting historical places..."

Ronan snorted.

"..and being Sunday many of the stores will be closed."

"I say we take her to see the stones." Ronan said.

"The stones?" Sarah asked with interest.

"Standing stones." Ronan explained. " Not as big and elaborate as Stonehenge, don't get your hopes up, but they're still pretty cool. They're on a grassy opening at the top of a cliff that slopes directly down into the ocean."

"I don't know..." Bridget said considering. "It's a bit of a walk and a steep climb. If Sarah feels up to it, I suppose, but the jet-lag-"

"I'll be fine, I want to see them." Sarah said eagerly.

"Onward then!" Ronan cried, leading the way.

-------------------------

Bridget was right, it was a difficult climb for somebody who had only just crossed the Atlantic, but Sarah did her best to hide it; she had said that she could handle it and she would. After all, she hadn't seen the ocean in ages and she had never seen standing stones before. Ronan was skipping up the twisting path as lightly as a deer while Bridget hung back with Sarah discussed college courses and interesting literature with her. Bridget paused once in awhile, pretending she needed to retie her shoe or double check that she had something in her bag. Sarah knew she was just doing this to give her a brief rest, for which she was very grateful.

Her legs were a little shaky and she was out of breath by the time they reached the top, but it was well worth it. The sight was breathe-taking: there were eight stones, roughly five feet in height and three feet across of a dark grey stone jutting firmly from the ground, like sentinels keeping a constant unending vigil. There were two at the eastern corner standing twice as tall as all the others, forming a sort of frame or doorway. All the stones were tilted ever so slightly in different directions, pushed by the ages of wind and erosion.

The wind! It blew her hair in her face relentlessly until, fumbling in her pocket, she found something to tie it back with. It was cold too, a damp cold that cut right into her.

Sarah walked as close to the edge as she dared and squinting her eyes against the wind as best she could, peered down over the edge. They were, indeed, on a very high cliff that sloped down to where the waves beat at the stones, grey and cold and sliding smoothly over one another. Seagulls and other various sea birds flew around in circles overhead, somehow able to fly in that powerful wind. It was all so beautiful, beautiful and timeless.

_It would be a long way to fall_. Sarah thought to herself, suddenly aware of how dangerous it was to be leaning over a windy cliff edge and back away.

"Sarah!"

The voice was shouting, but even so it sounded like it was coming from a very long way off.

Sarah turned to see Bridget waiving to her from a large pile of rocks some ways off from the circle and watched the red patch that was Ronan's hair disappearing behind it. She hurried over and slipped behind the rocks to join them, and was pleasantly surprised to find that they formed a wonderful windbreak. She felt warmer almost instantly now that she was out of the wind, and she could hear her friends' voices properly again.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Ronan said as she settled down near him.

"Is it always this windy?" Sarah asked zipping her coat up around her throat.

"Often, but not always." Bridget answered. "There are calm days, but at this time of the year there's a lot of wind and rain."

"Amazing." Sarah murmured looking through a gap at the stones standing defiantly against the salty wind.

"It's believed to be nearly 2,000 years old." Bridget explained. "It's younger than Stonehenge, but it's still incredible that they have stood for so long."

"Some believe that during midsummer and midwinter it becomes a gateway to Faerie." Ronan said in a low mysterious voice.

"Yes...some believe that." Bridget agreed, and it was clear how much _she_ believed that.

"Come on, Bridget, Mum definitely had you convinced when we were little."

Bridget didn't say anything, but the faint pull of a smile confirmed Ronan's words.

"Mum used to tell us stories about faeries, princes, and heroes when we were little." Ronan explained at Sarah's curious look. "And how they would pass through to each other's world through those two stones."

He pointed to the two tallest stones.

"We always tried to find the way though, especially at the full moon. We never did." he sighed.

"We never did." Bridget agreed, a full smile on her face now.

The three of them sat in silence for a long time listening to the sounds of the wind blowing around the stones and the ocean below them. The place filled them with a deep sense of time, of people long gone, some remembered, some forgotten, and they felt how fleeting their lives seemed compared to the life of the world around them. Even Ronan was quiet as he gazed out at the sky, the blue reflecting in his wide green eyes.

"What's that over there?" Sarah asked, breaking the silence.

The other two squinted down the hill where she was pointing. She thought she could make out what looked like a stone wall.

"Is it some sort of ruin?" she asked curiously.

"It _was_ a house." Ronan said. "Years and years ago."

"It's a wonder any part of it is still standing." Bridget remarked.

"What happened to it?"

"Fire. It was burned over a hundred years ago."

Ronan's voice was sad, Sarah looked at him.

"It was burned on purpose." Ronan explained. "The people who lived here though the woman who living there was a witch. So one night a group of them burned the place down. The doors were barred from the outside, she couldn't escape and she and her little boy were killed."

"That's terrible." Sarah whispered.

She shivered as she imagined the wretched fate of that poor woman.

"Let's go back down." Bridget suggested, misinterpreting Sarah's shiver. "Let's go have lunch at Mrs. Mulligan's and warm up."

Going down was easier than going up and Sarah was able to take in the surroundings easier now that she wasn't trying to catch her breath and staring down at the trail. They passed close enough to the burned out shell of a house that Sarah was able to get a better look. It had been made of stone, but it must have had a wooden roof as there was still large areas that were charred an ominous black. One wall still stood with part of the roof hanging over the crumbled mess of the other three walls.

"How awful." Sarah murmured. "How awful."

-------------------------


	4. 03 Ghosts

"_...all the way, in a dark wood, in a bramble,  
On the edge of a grimpen, where is no secure foothold,  
And menaced by monsters, fancy lights,  
Risking enchantment. Do not let me hear  
Of the wisdom of old men, but rather of their folly,  
Their fear of fear and frenzy, their fear of possession,.."_

_**Chapter 3 - Ghosts**_

Ronan's description of Mrs. Mulligan was accurate. Extremely accurate. Sarah could easily picture the enormous old woman with the pale hair and those sharp eyes wearing viking horns and swinging a battle-ax, and she did look old enough to have been alive at the time. She was also heavily tattooed, her skin covered in spirals, runes, moon phases, and all sorts of things that Sarah couldn't name. It would have been enough to make even the strangest hippies that floated around Sarah's campus stop and stare incredulously. Sarah even saw tatooed on her left hand a small labyrinth. Her stomach lurched slightly at the sight of it.

She was busily grinding dried leaves with a mortar and pestle and muttering quietly to herself when they walked in. She froze as Sarah walked past and looked at her with grey eyes that were at first bewildered then narrowed to little slits that watched her walk past. Sarah let her hair fall across her face as she quickly turned away, puzzled by such a reaction.

"Is she always this warm and cuddly?" Sarah asked quietly.

"She's really not as scary as she looks." Bridget insisted. "She's harsh, and a little weird sometimes...well, _ a lot _weird, but..." she trailed off and shrugged.

Sarah snuck a peak through her hair. Mrs. Mulligan was still staring.

"It's probably just that she hasn't met you before...don't take it personally."

Just then Bridget's attention was drawn by a person across the room. Sarah followed her quickly to where a girl with dirty blonde hair stood behind a counter waving to Bridget.

"Hey, Erin. How's business?" Bridget asked her.

"Not bad, you managed to miss the noon traffic."

"Lucky us."

Erin glanced curiously at Sarah.

"This is Sarah, she's Morna's niece from America."

"Step-niece really." Sarah explained shaking Erin's hand.

"Well, nice to meet you Sarah." she turned to Bridget. "Having lunch?"

"Yes, I'll have my usual. Sarah, what do you want?"

"Umm..." Sarah hesitated, she could still feel Mrs. Mulligan's stare, and it was making her nervous. "The same."

"And all I _want_." Ronan said dramatically. "Is a sweet kiss from the fair lass."

He gave Erin a winning smile.

Erin rolled her eyes. "You wish."

He shrugged. "In that case: a roast beef sandwich."

The cafe was very cozy, much more peaceful than the Starbucks that had been the closest Sarah could usually get to a cafe. The walls were white with old fashioned windows taking up most of one wall with a fireplace dominating the opposite wall. There were various wooden tables accompanied by soft couches and chairs, most of which were pulled close to the fire at this time of the year. Mrs. Mulligan was the only person sitting at one of the tables next to the windows, seemingly impervious to the cold, and surrounded by various plants that had obviously been hung to dry. She had finally resumed her grinding to Sarah's relief.

The three of them selected a table near to the counter and after awhile Erin brought over their sandwiches, two coffees, and Bridget's cup of tea. Sarah took an experimental bite of her sandwich and found it was a very delicious egg salad. The wheat bread was wonderfully thick and filling.

"This is great!"

"Yeah, it's what I always order." Bridget said.

"Predictable." Ronan said disdainfully stirring an obscene amount of sugar into his coffee.

They got into a conversation about Sarah's hometown and the two listened with interest as Sarah described what her school was like, about the park where she played with Toby, and about her father and stepmother. She talked about attending the theater with her mother as a child, but skimmed over most of the actual details of her mother.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when she suddenly realized that Mrs. Mulligan was standing right next to her chair.

"Hello Mrs. Mulligan." Bridget said pleasantly.

"Bridget, good to see you again." her accent was so thick Sarah had to listen hard to understand her. "Ronan, not causing much trouble I hope." she turned then to Sarah. "And you I don't know."

"My name's Sarah," she said and held her hand out politely. "I'm staying with Morna."

"Sarah." Mrs. Mulligan mused, staring hard into Sarah as if she could see every little detail about her. "Yes. Of course. Yes, makes sense. _Princess_."

"Huh?" she fidgeted, wanting to move away but not wanting to be rude either.

"Is what it means. Sarah. Princess."

"Oh. I didn't know that."

" Names have power, a person should always know what their name _means_."

Without another word she walked away. There was an uncomfortable silence in her wake.

"That was...different." Sarah remarked.

"That was strange. Even for her." Ronan remarked. Then he grinned. "My name means _little seal_, because our family is distantly descended from selkies." he leaned close to Sarah. "Every midsummer our great-grandmother would come out of the sea as a seal, and was eventually captured by our great-grandfather when he stole the skin she shed."

"You were named after St. Ronan." Bridget said. "Our great-grandmother was a farmer from a village north of here."

"Oh yeah...St. Ronan. Didn't he curse some pagan to a life of nudity? I could think of a few girls I wouldn't mind cursing to a life of nudity."

Bridget smacked her younger brother's arm.

"Sarah wins though." he said, rubbing his arm and glaring at Bridget. "Apparently she's _royalty._"

"My high school was full of _princesses_." Sarah said wryly. "Too many of them acted like it too."

"Does this mean you'll have to change your name when you become 'the queen?'"

"I suppose. As long as it's more interesting than Sarah. Everybody has a best friend, a cousin, or an ex-girlfriend named Sarah. What's a good name that means queen?"

Bridget, to Sarah's surprise, startled rattling them off.

"Regina, Reina, Riona, Malcah, Lareina, Gevirah, Basilia..." she paused, trying to think of more.

"How do you know all of those?" Sarah asked in disbelief. "And how can you _remember_ them all?"

"She has no life." Ronan said simply. "Better not take the name Riona though. Bad luck. Somebody might burn your house down."

"Ronan!" Bridget said sharply. "That is _not_ funny."

Sarah raised her eyebrows.

"Riona," Ronan explained. "Was the name of the woman who lived in that house you saw, the woman who died in the fire."

Sarah remembered the charred wall and shivered.

Ronan grinned and leaned in close. "You wanna hear the really creepy thing about that house?"

Bridget sighed but didn't say anything.

"Sure."

Ronan settled back happily in his chair, clearly enjoying the chance to tell a good story.

"You remember I mentioned on the hill that her little boy died with her in the fire?"

Sarah nodded.

"Supposedly he was as strange as his mother. He was heard talking to _something_ whenever he was alone, at least he always _seemed _to be alone when he was heardHe used to tell people that he was talking to the fae, that they were his friends. When he got mad, if other boys picked on him or somebody made his mother unhappy, strange things would happen to them. They would fall and break their leg, their cow would sicken, or their field would be flooded: just a lot of little strange things."

"A lot of this was, of course, just superstition and bitterness towards Riona." Erin said, coming to sit down with them. Clearly this was a local legend that everybody knew and loved to tell.

"Bitter?" Sarah prompted.

"A lot of it had to do with the political religious turmoil at the time." Bridget explained. "Do you know much Irish history?"

Sarah nodded. She remembered bits from a British history class she had taken.

"Well, at the time there was a lot of anger towards the English. Riona was born and raised in Tarnathy, but did something that was considered a crime by her neighbors: she ran off and married an Englishman. That was a scandal in itself, but then many years later she returned with her child after her husband had died. She was devastated by the death, and her former neighbors were cold towards her, so she settled with her child farther away from the community, out on the hill as you saw.'

"That wasn't all though. Riona was strange, and always had been. As a child she used to spend a lot of time out by herself, making up games and stories she shared with the other children, and spending most of her time out playing in the fields. It was tolerated easily enough when she was little, she was carefree spirit and an adorable girl. When she returned from England, though, it was different.'

"Tarnathy was a catholic community then, largely it still is." Bridget explained. "But it was different back then. People were stricter in their faith, they believed the devil lurked everywhere and that demons were just waiting to seize the souls of any person who doubted God. The old tales of faeries and spirits became one with beliefs about Satan and demons. Riona told stories about faeries and sprites and goblins and other such creatures to her children, and that started to make the people of the town nervous. What made matters worse was Riona refused to attend church and kept her son at home with her. So, not surprisingly, she was believed to be a heretic who was breeding witchcraft in her own home. The fear grew and...well...you've seen the house."

"They burned it." Sarah said, remembering what they had told her earlier in the day. _It was burned on purpose._

"One night a group of them burned the place down. The doors were barred from the outside, so she couldn't escape, and she and her little boy were killed." Ronan said. "_Supposedly,_ see, here's the really strange part: _They never found his body_. His mother's body was recovered, but there was no sign of what happened to him. He wasn't seen anywhere around Tarnathy or any neighboring villages or towns ever again after that night. He was just _gone,_ as if he simply vanished from this world."

Sarah took in a breath as she realized she had forgotten to breathe. She felt strange.

"Nobody knows what happened to the boy?"

"He was given to the goblins." Sarah turned in her chair and saw Mrs. Mulligan hovering close by. "They didn't want him here anymore so the faeries and goblins came and took him."

Sarah felt the stirrings of a fear, a fear she couldn't quite name. Something half remembered clawing at the back of her mind.

"Taken underground to their world to live as one of them." Ronan affirmed. "But some say that he still appears in the wood around his house, that he comes to steal children who are wished away. Or those who called his name."

"And what was his name?"

"His name was..." Ronan paused and looked around as if expecting something to appear. "_ Gareth!" _

Nothing.

Ronan shrugged.

"Bridget and I always tried that when we were little. Never worked."

Bridget and Erin laughed, but Mrs. Mulligan didn't, neither did Sarah.

_Gareth_.

Sarah's head was pounding now, as if something were trying to crawl its way out of her skull.

"Every kid here tries it sometime." Bridget said. "But it's just a story. Gareth probably died in the fire too and his body was overlooked in the wreckage."

_Just a story_. Sarah told herself forcefully and the pain in her head seemed to hesitate, then eased away.

"All the same, you have to admit that it's just _weird_ that nobody knows what happened to him."

"Yes." Bridget conceded. "It's weird."

They were all silent for a time, caught in the mysteries of the past.

_Gareth._ The name wouldn't stop echoing in Sarah's mind. _Gareth._

"It's getting late, we should get back." Bridget said at last. Outside the sky was beginning to darken.

"Yes yes, you should be off, all of you, before the shadows come out." Mrs. Mulligan said briskly.

Ronan crossed his eyes and made a subtle motion to Sarah indicating his thoughts on the level of Mrs. Mulligan's sanity. Even Bridget could barely resist the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as they headed for the door.

"Come, dear princess, before the dragons come to lock you in a tower!"

Sarah laughed but was brought up short when somebody grasped her suddenly. A heavy hand decorated with an elaborate labyrinth held Sarah's shoulder and she turned to see Mrs. Mulligan looking at her seriously.

"Be careful, young one. Don't be so careless with names. What you end up calling may not be what you were expecting."

Once released Sarah hurried outside after her friends wondering what on earth she had meant by that.

They were halfway to Morna's house when Bridget froze and let out an irritated curse.

"I forgot my purse at the cafe. You two go on, I want to get it before they close for the night."

"Fear not!" Ronan said pompously. "I will escort the lovely Princess Sarah to her abode." he gave a deep bow and held his arm out to Sarah, which she took with an amused smile.

He marched with her down the street glancing back at Bridget's retreating form every now and then. When she was out of sight he quickly pulled Sarah off in another direction.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

He grinned.

"Ghost-hunting."

-------------------------

It was completely dark by the time they got to the burned remains of what was once the home of Riona and Gareth, but the moon was large, maybe only a day or two shy of the full moon, and it cast enough light to see by. The place had been sad enough in the daylight, but at night it was eery, a broken haunted place. They had walked part way up the path before Ronan led her off into some overgrown bushes and past some oak trees. The remains of the house appeared suddenly out of the shadows and loomed over them as if asking, _why are you here? You dare come to this place? _Sarah wasn't sure herself why she had agreed to come, but that tingling memory that had been kindled by the story had urged her here.

"Creepy isn't it?" Ronan commented as if reading her thoughts.

They walked slowly around the house. There was one wall that was still intact and half of one connected to that. Somehow when the ceiling fell during the fire it had managed to land partially on top of the half a wall and create a small overhang that would shelter a person desperate for cover. It was a quiet, mournful place. The fallen stones were covered with moss, the only sign of life that Sarah could see. The wood from the house had long since rotted away, but the stones of the walls were still faintly stained with the dark evidence of fire. Like the standing stones on the top of the hill the place had a deep sense of time, but unlike the stones, which felt like a homage to life and humanity, this was a place of bitterness, anger, and regret for everything that was lost. A testimony of cruelty.

"I'm amazed that it's still standing at all."

"Weird, huh? They say it's a home for ghosts and goblins and that they use their magic to keep it from crumbling completely. Nobody else will come near this place."

_Goblins._ Whatever was hovering at the back of Sarah's mind stirred again.

"Why would goblins want it?" Sarah wondered out loud. "What would they use it for?"

"Keg parties?" Ronan suggested.

"That must be it." she said, smiling in spite of the gloom.

She tentatively reached out to touch the stone of the single standing wall and her fingers tingled faintly. On a whim she stepped past it into the charred area that had once been the interior. She peered hard into a hollow place in the remaining wall.

"See anything?" Ronan called.

"Of all the areas that could have survived the fire, why the wall with the fireplace?" she wondered out loud.

Ronan walked to her side and looked at it curiously.

"You're right...weird."

Sarah walked closer, her feet almost sinking into the soft earth, wanting to get a closer look. She was about a foot from it, leaning closer to inspect it, when something white suddenly flew out of the black. She gave a loud shriek as something soft brushed her face and backed up so quickly that she knocked Ronan over, who let out a yelp of surprise and fear. They froze, both their hearts pounding, and looked around.

"Look, it's an owl." Ronan pointed to a pale bird staring down at them from a nearby tree.

They both relaxed.

"I thought for sure it was a ghost."

Ronan stood up and pulled Sarah to her feet. Sarah examined the owl's face closely as it stared down arrogantly at her.

"In a way we did. It's a barn owl, see." she pointed. "See the white heart-shaped face and the gold brown wings? Another name for barn owl is ghost owl. Also: silver owl, monkey-faced owl, and church owl, among others."

Ronan looked at the owl, then looked at her.

"If you start going on about the areas where it lives, what it eats, how it digests, how fast it flies, it's importance in the ecosystem, or any other boring fact Bridget would adore and memorize I'm leaving you here."

"Don't worry, most of the research I've done is about the folklore. I was writing a poem about barn owls and the spirit world. My class hated it: they said it was too abstract. The folklore about it is still interesting."

"Such as?"

"It was believed to be a psychopomp."

He looked at her.

"I need that in dummy English."

"Psychopomp, meaning a guide for the souls. They were creatures or spirits who could predict or call the name of those who were about to die, then guide their souls to the next world."

"A tour guide for the dead?"

"Umm...sure...The barn owl got that reputation because with its white face it would scare the hell out of anybody who walked into an old barn or building where they like to nest, just like it with us, and people thought it was a ghost. In folklore they could travel between the worlds, namely this world and the faerie realm, or the world of the dead." she paused. "In England their voice was also supposed to predict the weather. If they shrieked in good weather, rain was coming. If it was cold, fair weather was coming."

The owl was still glaring down at them, blinking its black eyes now and then.

"A combination weatherman and undertaker?" Ronan asked and smirked, amused.

The owl took flight and noiselessly flew low over Ronan, startling and causing him to fall for the second time that evening. Sarah watched it disappear off into the trees.There was loud shriek followed by the desperate squeal of a caught animal, followed by silence.

"Storm coming." Sarah remarked, looking at the clear sky where the moon shone unhindered.

She helped Ronan to his feet and the two made their way down the hill.

-------------------------

The bright warmth of the fire in Morna's house was a wonderful relief to Sarah after her chilling evening. Ronan, unable to resist the urge to joke about her name being "princess" launched into a long maudlin farewell, praising Sarah's beauty, royal dignity, and expansive knowledge of owls and their shrieks. Morna eventually cut him off by yelling at him through the door to either come in or stop spouting bad poetry and go home. With a wink at Sarah he turned and disappeared into the dark.

After telling Morna about her day she finally bid her goodnight and went up to her little room. She didn't sleep well, the story she had been told kept coming up in her mind.

Something wanted her to remember it.

She thought of the owl.

_What a fitting second form it would be_. _For...for _him.

The rational part of her mind sleepily wondered who _he_ was.

_Him. The king._ King? No, they had been talking about a queen today weren't they? Not a real queen though...and there was something about a princess. But the princess wasn't really a princess either was she? But there was an owl, and the owl was a king. The owl was a ghost and knew the weather...

Her thoughts faded as she finally fell asleep.

The pale owl hovered in the darkness of her closed eyes as if it were watching her dreams.


	5. 04 Shadows

"_Lying awake, calculating the future,  
Trying to unweave, unwind, unravel  
And piece together the past and the future,  
Between midnight and dawn, when the past is all deception,  
The future futureless..."_

_**Chapter 4 - Shadows**_

Sarah dreamt about shadows.

These dreams had haunted her all her life. She never knew when they would appear; it could be years, months, sometimes a single day separated the nights, and they were the earliest source of fear in her life. She couldn't really remember when they started, it was hard to distinguish between the earliest dreams and what were the fears of an imaginative child. Maybe that's how they all began, the early childhood memories are, after all, as fragmented and hard to remember as dreams.

Before she could speak she used to cry and scream through the night if she was left alone. If she was alone the shadows would creep up to her bed and peer through the bars of her crib, whispering to her, snickering, but her mother came when she cried and cradled her close, spoke soothing words to her. Her mother could bring light, and the shadows would shrink away.

When she was old enough to express her fear they tried night lights, but that only made it worse. The outlines of the shadows were more pronounced with that tiny amount of light, sometimes she imagined she saw faces hiding in them, watching her. The second the light turned on they skittered away like cockroaches, but she knew they were there: hiding, watching, waiting. Nothing was more frightening than a power outage. The light of a flashlight fed their forms as much as the night light did.

Her mother who came up with the answer. Every night at bedtime she would lightly kiss her daughter on the forehead and say: "This kiss will protect you, my love will keep the shadows away," and it worked. After the special kiss she would imagine her mother's love like a halo of light surrounding her, a shield of magical protection that the shadows couldn't penetrate. She would sleep soundly, unafraid. Sarah knew now that it worked because she believed it did, that she could trick her mind into thinking her fear couldn't touch her.

That was then, when her mother was actually a mother, before her acting career became her new and most important child, and she stopped being there for Sarah. She'd be gone several nights a week leaving Sarah defenseless against the shadows. She could see them creeping around her room laughing and whispering "Your mother's gone away, she doesn't love you, she doesn't want you." Her father tried his best, but he wasn't the creative and imaginative person his wife was, it never worked with him.

Eventually her mother never came back at all.

As she got older she dreamed of the shadows less often, but the few she had were frightening. Even if she couldn't remember the details of the dreams, she would still wake trembling and afraid to sleep again for the rest of the night. Sometimes she turned her light on, just to be sure the shadows weren't crouching beside her, or slipping out from under her bed.

The dreams became even stranger when Toby was born. His first night home from the hospital Sarah saw the shadows for the first time in at least three years. She was standing in Toby's room and the shadows were scurrying around her feet, they were curious about the contents of the cradle in the middle of the room. For the first time she could see their faces in clear detail: dark and leathery, distorted, open mouths full of lots of little teeth, or no teeth at all; dark shiny eyes and large nostrils. Not human. They were murmuring in little rasping voices.

The curtains on one of the windows were parted slightly, thin line of golden light from the street-lamps cut into the darkness. A particularly large shadow began to detach itself from the darkest corner of the room and glided over to the cradle. The gold light shimmered and flowed out to become long wispy hair, and the darkness shaped itself into a fluttering cape. Sarah's eyes widened at the sight: this figure was new to her, she had never seen anything other than the scrambling little shadows. The figure stood by the cradle gazing down on Toby. He lifted a hand like he was going to touch the little sleeping form. Sarah let out a gasp and the face of shadow turned and looked straight at her with surprised interest, at least that was the impression she had, she couldn't quite see its face. It started to move toward her and she began to back away. She turned to run and was tripped by one of the smaller shadows. As she hit the ground she woke herself up shaking in a cold sweat with no memory of what she was dreaming but still afraid.

The last dream she had had was the night she had run the Labyrinth. She was standing in the oubliette holding Toby, who was gazing wide-eyed over her shoulder. A light flared up as a candle was lit, just as it had when Hoggle had appeared. This time, though, there was nobody there, just the shadows flickering along the walls. As it had in the previous dream a large shadow appeared, but this time she could clearly see the figure that stepped out.

"You can't have him." she told the Goblin King as he glared at her. "If you want him, you'll have to go through me, and _you have now power over me._"

She shrank away briefly at the rage that darkened his eyes, but only for a moment before she steeled herself and met his eyes defiantly. The candle hissed and went out.

When she woke up she walked carefully into the next room, pausing to make sure her father and Karen were asleep and stole her way over to where Toby was sleeping. She picked him up and cradled him. His blue eyes opened and looked at her solemnly.

"You're safe, don't worry. I'll protect you from him, I promise."

Toby's eyes closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

When Sarah woke the following morning she had already forgotten the dream.

Now, six years later, she was having another nightmare. In this dream she still knew where she was: in her bed in Morna's house, but she couldn't move. Her mind began to panic as she could not so much as move a toe or finger. She even tried to make her throat make some sort of sound, anything that might somehow jar her mind awake. Nothing. She was powerless, and she was afraid.

The moon was nearly full and shining in through the window. The shadows moved.

"Does she know?" a voice rasped.

"She suspects." another, darker voice whispered. "She's close. Not long now."

"Patience."

"Wait."

"Watch."

_Wake up, wake up! Come on! WAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUP..._

An owl shrieked loudly outside, exactly what Sarah needed to yank her back.

She was shaking and forcing herself not to sob. The dream was fading already, like wisps of smoke caught in a breeze. She pulled on a large warm sweatshirt and tried to calm her shaking.

It was late. What the exact time was she didn't know, but she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep, not yet anyway. Maybe she would make a cup of tea, or have a cup of milk. If Aunt Morna had some honey and cinnamon maybe she could make hot sweetened milk like her father did for her when she was small.

She was surprised to find Aunt Morna still awake by the fire. She looked up as Sarah entered.

"Hello, darling, can't sleep?" she asked.

"Bad dreams." Sarah's voice was a little shaky. "I thought I'd make a cup of tea or sweet milk, if that's alright?"

"Of course, love, you can find everything alright?"

"Yes, thanks."

Sarah found a pale blue mug, her hand shaking a little less now, and micro-waved some milk. She stirred in a copious amount of honey and went to rejoin Morna in the next room, sitting next to her on the couch in front of a low fire.

"So why are you up so late, if you don't mind me asking?" Sarah said.

"Oh, I'm old, and these bones ache in this damp cold. I wake up a lot, so I find that I might as well just sit up in this soft chair and sleep where it's warm. I wake periodically and feed the fire when I need to. It's easier than getting up out of bed, and it gives me time to read, and to remember."

Sarah followed Morna's gaze to a framed picture of a handsome man smiling out at them. He looked like he was in his thirties.

"Your husband?" she asked.

Morna gave a sigh that was both happy and sad.

"That is my sweet, darling Aiden. He passed away years ago. We married young, you know, I was only fifteen at the time, and he was eighteen. Of course, back then it wasn't considered so amazing to marry young, but we did surprise everybody by marrying three days after we had met."

"Three days?!"

Morna smiled and nodded.

"You weren't afraid that it would...you know, not work out?"

"Not at all. He came to me at the annual May Day festival, and his smile was so warm, so beautiful, and he presented me with a peach without saying a word." she closed her eyes and relished the sweet memory. "In that moment I was his forever. Never again has a peach ever tasted so wonderful." she opened her eyes and looked at Sarah. "It was once an old folk tradition that to offer somebody a peach was to invite them to be your lover, did you know?"

_To offer somebody a peach was to invite them to be your lover._

"No..." Sarah murmured. "No I did not."

A sickly sweet memory filled her mouth, and her mind flashed to the image of a mask...many masks. She took a large gulp from her mug, scalding her mouth in the attempt to wash away the phantom taste.

Morna hadn't noticed her reaction, she was looking at the picture again.

"I miss him. Often. But when my time comes I know he'll be there waiting for me, we loved each other too much for death to end it."

They sat quietly, each with their own thoughts, watching the firelight and listening to the crackling of the burning wood.

"I was told the story about Gareth today." Sarah was startled, wondering what had made her say that..

"Ah yes, Gareth." Morna said softly. "I'm distantly related to him you know.

"Really?" Sarah was surprised.

"His half sister was my great-grandmother."

"He had a half-sister?"

Nobody had mentioned that he had had a sister.

"Oh yes. Her name was Fiona. I knew her well, although she was a very old woman at the time, and I was only eight when she died. She was in her nineties. The women in our family tend to live a long time. My grandmother lived to be ninety-two, and my own mother actually made it to a hundred. I'll be turning eighty-nine in a month, although I never felt old until Aiden passed away." she sighed. "She used to tell such wonderful stories, Fiona did. She was always telling stories to me and the other children, mostly about faeries and goblins. She used to cry if she ever told the story of her brother. How much of his story did you hear?"

"I heard about how he and his mother were suspected of witchcraft and how they - or at least his mother - died when their house was set on fire. They also told me that his father was an Englishman who died while Gareth was still young."

Aunt Morna nodded. "Yes, that's all true, but very few people know the details of his and his mother's life, only those of us who are related to Fiona."

"Why is that?"

"For some reason Fiona always wanted to keep the story of his life a secret. I've never really been certain why, maybe it was just too painful. But if you're interested I'll tell you about it, you are, after all, family now."

"Only if you're not too tired."

"Not at all, not at all." she took a long breathe. "The story, obviously, begins with his mother, my great-great-grandmother, Riona. This was nearly two hundred years ago. Riona was part of a farming family, like most who lived in Tarnathy, sheepherders many of them. That's why you don't see any forests close to the village, sheep, unlike cattle, will eat anything, including young trees. There is still plenty of forest near the hill that leads up the standing stones. It was a superstitious time back then and everyone left that area alone for fear of raising the anger of the demons they thought lived up there.'

"Riona's mother died in childbirth so it was just her and her father. She was a bright, radiant girl and she was the apple of her father's eye. She used to go with him whenever he traveled to Cork to buy items that they couldn't get in the village. The village was much smaller back then. It was in Cork that she met the merchant Gareth Everard, who fell instantly in love with the girl. The two eloped the same day that they met and she went with him back to England. It broke her father's heart.'

"She lived with his family in London, but it was a difficult time for her. She missed the open country that she had grown up in, and Gareth's sisters and mother disliked having this young foreigner living with them. Not only had Gareth, in their eyes, married beneath himself, he had married an _Irishwoman._'"

She paused for a moment.

"Do you know much about the conflicts between England and Ireland, Sarah?"

"Some." she said. "I took an Irish regional novel class when I was in college."

"Well, you'll know about some of this history then. This all took place back when all of Ireland was officially under the rule of Great Britain and the parliament in London. Despite the fact that it was our national language for so long, speaking gaelic was strongly discouraged and English was favored in all the schools and many of the Irish people felt as if they were losing their cultural identity. This led to the rebellion in 1798, during which horrible massacres were committed by both sides. There was a lot of bad blood between the English and the Irish, _a lot_ of bad blood, and even though the rebellion was over by then there were still enough skirmishes to keep everybody nervous."

Sarah nodded.

"When Gareth was home they were both deeply happy and in love, and just nine months after they were married she gave birth to a son who was named Gareth after his father. He was a beautiful child with pale golden hair and dark brown eyes, he looked just like his father, but as he grew older it was apparent that he had the spirit of his mother. Supposedly he was very clever and mischievous. Not unlike our Ronan, I imagine. Even his father's family adored him, no matter how much they disliked his mother.'

"Like I said, she was happy when Gareth, the elder, was home, but being a merchant sailor he was gone often, and she was deeply wounded by the family's rejection of her. She found joy in her little son but the years of isolation began to wear her down, and she was no longer the light-hearted girl she used to be. She grew weary and quiet.'"

"When did the older Gareth die?" Sarah asked.

"When his son was only five years old." Morna said. "And when that happened his family would have nothing more to do with his little low-born Irish wife. They refused to allow Riona any part of what was her legal inheritance as his widow and simply put her on the next ship to Ireland."

"How awful!"

"Yes. Even worse still, they took little Gareth from her."

"What?!" Sarah asked incredulously.

"Yes. They refused to give up the little boy. Instead they sent him to a proper English school and refused to let her see him. She didn't know where the school was, and she had never learned how to write, so there was no way she could find him. She had no choice: she returned to her father in Tarnathy a broken woman."

Tears filled Sarah's eyes at the thought of this poor woman's suffering. "My God...how could anybody be so...so _cruel._"

Morna shook her head sadly. "There was no welcome for her in Tarnathy either. She had married an Englishman and now her neighbors mistrusted her as much as her in-laws had. She did, eventually, remarry. He was an old childhood friend named Jamie, one of the few who didn't avoid her. They built their house a ways away from the village, near to the standing stones, and it was in that little house that she had her little girl Fiona. He was the youngest of four sons so he was lucky to find any land at all, and when her father died his farm had gone to her cousin; he never forgave her for running away to England. It was far from everybody else, so she had some peace. Unfortunately, though, this distance also made the townspeople dislike her even more, they even started to feel a little afraid of her. It wasn't a good idea for Riona to refuse to go to church, living in a superstitious catholic community such as this once was. Now, in addition to being a traitor, it was whispered that she was a witch. People claimed to see her on dark nights dancing in the standing stones with a shadowy figure, and anything that went wrong in the community was, inevitably, blamed on her; that she was doing magic against them. She couldn't bear their suspicious looks and the whispers, so she stopped leaving her home altogether.'

"Still, despite the difficulties of their life Jamie was good to her and together they had a little girl: Fiona. Jamie wanted to name her Riona after her mother, but for some reason she refused. Maybe she had decided it was bad luck to name a child after a parent, so instead they called her 'Fiona.' She loved her baby daughter, very much, but it was clear that she still mourned the loss of the son she had conceived with her true love."

"But she did find him again. He came to live in Tarnathy didn't he?"

Morna smiled. "As I said, Gareth was very clever and mischievous. After two years at school he ran away. His aunts and his grandmother had lied to him, told him that his mother had left and didn't want him. He wasn't an idiot, he had seen how his mother was treated and knew it was a lie. He figured that she would have gone back to Ireland, having nowhere to go in England, so with nothing more than the name "Tarnathy" he was able to stow away on a boat, and managed, somehow, to find his way here. His mother wept with happiness at the sight of her son. He was filthy, tired, and hungry, but it was him.'

"Little Fiona was surprised at the sudden appearance of this half-brother, but her surprise quickly turned to adoration. He protected and doted on her, telling her stories, swiping sweets, making up songs for her. He had a beautiful voice, she used to tell us, and he loved to sing. Also like Ronan. She idolized her brother and followed him everywhere like a happy little puppy.'

"Unfortunately, the town did not take to him the way she did. He told Fiona the same stories that Riona once told him; about the faeries, the trolls, the goblins, and all the creatures of folklore which were simply called "demons" by the rest of the community. He would sometimes be seen talking as if to another person when he appeared to be completely alone. He got in fights with the other boys at school, argued with the teacher, and ignored any orders his step-father gave him. He would sneak away to run play in the forest, or to dance and sing up at the standing stones, always with his little sister at his side. He frightened all the other children, telling them that he was a friend of the faeries, that he could see the spirits of the woods and the streams, and that he could call them. Riona never scolded him, she was too relieved to have him back.'

"As time went on things became really strange. Anybody who angered Gareth or tried to hurt him or his family...something would happen to him. People would fall and swear that someone had pushed them, even if they were alone. Farm animals ran away, sickened, or attacked the farmers. Windstorms would come out of nowhere knocking down roofs and destroying fences.'

"People were afraid. They believed that Riona had slept with the devil to conceive this child, that he was too inhumanly beautiful, and his voice was surely a gift from his dark father, a tool to deceive good catholics and lead them into damnation. Fiona's grandmother hated the boy. She believed that her pure little grand-daughter was being lead away from God by this wicked little boy. It's possible that she played a role in what happened, that she made sure that Fiona would be safe."

"They burned the place down." Sarah said softly.

"Yes." Morna sounded weary and sad. "One night a group of villagers, nobody knows who, snuck out to the little house while Fiona and Jamie were visiting his mother, when it was just Riona and Gareth. Riona died, that is known for sure. What became of young Gareth, nobody knows."

"Bridget believes he also died in the fire."

"Perhaps. It's likely. But then again, he was very clever and tricky. Maybe he escaped somehow."

"Mrs. Mulligan thinks he was taken away by the goblins." Sarah said.

"Yes. She remembers what Fiona used to tell us when we were young. Mrs. Mulligan is my cousin, did you know that?"

"Really?"

"Yes. She was with me when Fiona told us stories. Fiona claimed. even as an old woman, that she would see her brother after the fire. Every now and then she saw him, hiding in the trees, or reflected in mirrors and streams. She believed he was taken by the faeries. Faeries were especially fond, according to old beliefs, of young boys with fair hair. They also loved music, so perhaps she convinced herself that that's where had gone, a way to deal with the tragedy. She said that he would speak to her, when nobody else could hear. Sing to her. He wanted her to come and be with him in Faerie. As she grew up he became more and more insistent, and she nearly did go to be with him. But she fell in love. When the boy, later my great-grandfather, asked her to marry him, she agreed. She was never able to see Gareth again after that. Ever."

There was a silence.

"Do you believe she saw him? Do you believe he was spirited away?" Sarah asked quietly.

Morna leaned back in her chair and gazed into the fire, now a pile of glowing cinders. She closed her eyes.

"I believe there is more to life than anybody will ever realize. I believe anything is possible." she said at last.

They were quiet again for a long time. Sarah thought that Morna must have fallen asleep and began to feel sleepy herself. Quietly she got up and walked to the stairs.

She had only gone up two steps when she heard Morna speak, more to herself than to Sarah: "It's strange, I often forget that the boy's name was, in fact, _Gareth_. Fiona was a small child when she knew her brother and had never learned to pronounce his name properly. even late into her life she always pronounced it the way she had when she was young. I guess all of us who heard her stories just picked up her way of pronouncing it _Jareth_."


	6. 05 Darkness

"_I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you  
... As, in a theatre,  
The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed  
With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness,  
And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama  
And the bold imposing facade are all being rolled away—"_

_**Chapter Five - Darkness**_

Sarah wanted to sleep but her mind refused to be silent. It kept repeating words over and over: memories, things people had said, even fragments of song lyrics and poems. Sometimes nothing more than nonsensical phrases that had no meaning Sarah could think of. The story Morna told her had shaken her. Every now and again it would again throw those two similar names at her: _Gareth, Jareth._

Falling asleep always seems like so simple and natural a thing until your thoughts won't relax, no matter how much you yell at yourself.

Only half aware of herself Sarah flung back the quilt and tore off her nightgown. She found the pair of jeans and shirt that she had worn the previous evening, pulled them on, grabbed her leather coat off the chair and went quietly down the stairs. The horizon was beginning to lighten to a soft thiel color that hinted morning wasn't too far off .

Morna wasn't in her chair. Sarah paused, then remembered it was Sunday. Her step-aunt had told her last night that she would probably be gone by the time Sarah was up. She attended the early morning services on Sundays and liked to go for a walk beforehand, to watch the sunrise. She firmly told Sarah she did not have to go, she knew Sarah wasn't catholic, and Sarah was very grateful. She suspected that most kids her age in Tarnathy would be opting to sleep rather than attend church. Times changed.

Sarah wouldn't be missed for another five hours at least. Good. She needed to think, she needed fresh air. She found her shoes by the door and slipped out into the cold pre-dawn air.

Her feet found the way while her mind was elsewhere. The Eastern sky was a pale rose color by the time she found herself standing outside the ruined house. She stepped in and stood under the remains of the roof for a moment, leaning against the solid remaining wall before slowly sliding down to sit on the cold ground, her back against the stone. She watched the morning light creep over the other mostly disintegrated wall. The owl was nowhere to be seen. Probably done with it its hunting for the night.

Her mind turned what she had heard over and over trying to make sense of it all._ It can't be..._ Sarah said to herself for the thousandth time. _Even if it's all true...even if everything I did happened...why here? Why would I have to come to such a remote place and have it be where he was from? How could such a coincidence possibly be true._ She massaged her eyes trying to think. _Besides, she said that Gareth had dark brown eyes and..._he..._he had had those strange mismatched eyes. _She felt shaky. She probably should have eaten before she left. _But it was all a story, just a story I made up. Maybe I based on something I heard Karen say._ She knew that this would be highly unlikely. Even though Karen was a part of Morna's family, and could very possibly have heard the story of Gareth, she was not into story telling. In fact, Sarah had never once heard her mention her Irish branch of the family until she had suggested this trip. Maybe she had just head the name Jareth somewhere and liked it.

_And how many times have you ever heard that name before?_ her mind demanded. Just twice: in her written account of her journey through the labyrinth, whether it was a fantasy or not, and from Morna.

She didn't understand any of this, or why she somehow seemed to be a part of it.

"Gareth." she whispered out loud. Her voice lost in the open air. Then: "Jareth..."

She shuddered and her hand flew to her chest with a cry. Something had just happened, something was different. The sky had split open yet remained completely unchanged, something shattered like glass but there was no noise, no fragments. In that instant something had happened, something subtle but unbelievably powerful had been released. She could swear for a moment that she heard distant laughter, but quickly assured herself that it was just sea-birds. They had such strange cries.

Somebody was watching her, she could feel it. She swung her head looking around the desolate area. Nothing. Nothing but a chubby litter bird, a dipper, bouncing around eagerly in the grass.

The wind was picking up. It was windy up on the cliff, as Sarah already knew from yesterday, but this area provided a decent wind-break, or at least it did. The wind was getting faster, harder, she could hear it in the trees and hissing down the remains of the fireplace.

_Shhhhhhhhrahhhhhhh. _

She shivered and buttoned her coat all the way up to her throat.

_Sssssssshhhhhhhhhhhrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh._

It sounded eerily like somebody calling her name.

"Just the wind." she murmured. "It's nothing more than the wind." It was like the noise she used to make as a child blowing across an open bottle. This was the same, it was simply blowing across the old chimney.

Something was still watching her.

The wind whipped into her, pressing her hard into the wall. Just as suddenly as it had come, it ceased and all was calm again, but whatever energy she had when she went there had been drained away. Her head fell back against the cold stone her and her eyes closed of their own accord, refusing to open again.She knew that she should get back. She wasn't sure how long she had been gone, but Morna might have get back from church and wonder where she had gone. She felt so tired, a weary exhaustion caused by a mostly sleepless night and being outdoors so early in the morning. She took a few deep breathes, trying to summon the strength she needed to walk back. The sun broke over the side of the crumbled wall and she winced as it fell across her closed eyes. If only that fire wasn't so bright. She turned her head slightly hoping to block the glare, it was starting to give her a pounding headache. With a sigh she pulled the silken sheets up around her naked form, but they weren't quite long enough to pull over her eyes.

Her body was aching as if she had been laying on hard stone for hours, and she was cold, her flesh was chilled through completely. What she had been doing that could make her feel so stiff and achy? She couldn't quite remember... Well, it didn't matter now, did it? The bed was soft, the room warm, and the sheets wonderfully smooth on her skin. Yet, she still couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right...

She felt a slight depression near her feet as if somebody had just sat down on the end of the bed. She opened her eyes to small little slits. Why didn't somebody turn the light down? There was somebody sitting there watching her, his black clothing blending in perfectly with the thin black sheets. His back was to the fire so she couldn't see his face, but the light reflected palely off his hair. The rest of the room was completely dark.

Sarah knew there was supposed to be something wrong here, she just couldn't remember what. She tried to sit up, pulling the sheets up with her to hide her nakedness, but the figure moved swiftly over her and lightly but firmly pinned her back down on the bed. She gave a slight gasp at the stiff pain. Why were her muscles so tense? She looked blearily up at the face hovering over hers but she still couldn't make it out. What was she forgetting?

"What is this place?" she murmured, confused. "How did I get here?"

A dark chuckle filled the room but he didn't speak. She felt vulnerable and tried once more to sit up, hoping maybe to clear her head, but he still had her pinned. Even though he was blocking the fire completely now her eyes still ached with the pain. A gloved hand came up and stroked the flesh under her collar bone with a feather light touch. She shivered at the contact but couldn't move away. He paused, watching her reaction, then deliberately pulled off each glove and tossed them aside. One hand moved up to lay across the side of her face, his fingers tangling in her hair, the other slid under the sheet and rested on the skin just below her left breast. She gave a low cry, a sound both of fear and pleasure at the delicious warmth of his flesh on hers.

She could see the flash of teeth when he grinned. His hand moved slowly down her body, skimming over her rib cage, circling the sensitive skin of her belly, then down her leg where it paused just for the briefest moment.

She let out a whimper and her body jerked convulsively. Her voice echoed strangely in her ears. She was trembling by now, her breath coming out in gasps. His hand was moving again, moving across her thigh and...

She woke with a start. She had fallen asleep. The sun was blazing in her eyes, which was the source of a throbbing migraine. Her body was stiff from the cold and from leaning on the hard stone. Her clothing and skin was coated in a fine layer of dew and she was shaking like a leaf.She looked slowly around. She still felt as if she were being watched.

There was no doubt in her mind now, _something_ had changed, something had happened. She stood, casting another futile look around for whoever or whatever was watching her before forcing her aching muscles to move, to allow her to walk back to Morna's house.

The owl, hidden in the shattered roof watched her leave, one of its black eyes flashing to green for an instant and the mismatched eyes narrowed into a human-like expression.

-------------------------

The next couple of weeks kept Sarah busy. Once her internal clock had finally adjusted to the time change, she spent most of the days getting to know the residents of Tarnathy and seeing all the interesting places nearby. Like many residents of small out of the way villages Ronan's family home-schooled him, which in his case meant that his tutors would show up, corner him and force some sort of useful information for the future into his head, then get the hell out of there. Somehow he had managed to pass all the tests sent by the schools to make sure he was at the appropriate level he needed to be. He tended to have a lot of free time and often appeared at the door or window in the mornings intent on taking Sarah hiking up nearby hills and exploring the cliffs and beaches by the ocean. In the evenings Bridget would usually join them in whatever they were doing. Bridget and Sarah also had a fun weekend together in Cork clothes shopping seeing some movies. Girly things, Ronan called them. Naturally Sarah also spent a lot of time just sitting and talking with Aunt Morna.

Despite the fact that she was enjoying her time in Tarnathy she was never able to shake off the feeling that she was being watched. She had to stop herself from constantly looking over her shoulder. She was nervous. She knew something had changed that morning, she just wasn't sure what. This feeling of being watched made it hard for her to sleep at night; her dreams were shallow and anxious and she would wake up suddenly almost every hour looking wildly around for the source of her unease. She never felt fully rested in the morning.

Whatever was watching her was biding its time.

-------------------------

A couple of weeks after her strange moment on the hill there came a weekend when the University College Cork was doing a performance of "The Phantom of the Opera." When Bridget asked Sarah if she wanted to go she agreed enthusiastically. The theater still appealed to her despite the fact that she had long since given up her dreams of becoming an actress like her mother. Ronan was also be going and so was Bridget's boyfriend Keith, who lived on the campus. Sarah was curious about what sort of boy Bridget would date. Maybe he too would be in the sciences, or a literature major. Somebody bookish and smart.

That Friday night when Keith came to pick the three of them up she discovered that she was right in that he _was _a literature major, and as such very well read. She wasn't expecting him to be a London goth. He had short wavy black hair - which Sarah suspected was dyed - dark browns eyes, and was wearing loose black pants and a fishnet shirt. How anybody could wear fishnet in this climate was beyond Sarah. He was really nice and a smart guy though, despite his surprising appearance, and he politely shook Sarah's hand and introduced himself. Almost as surprising was how relaxed and almost light-hearted Bridget was around him, her normally practical attitude was replaced by a warm relaxation as she bantered happily with her boyfriend about pretty much anything. Ronan occasionally caught her eye and they shared a smirk of amusement at the sight of the two.

The music he played in his car was loud. Not surprising. To Bridget's annoyance he put in a mixed cd of a band called "Disturbed," which seemed to be the cue for an argument between the two, one accusing the other of having no taste in music whatsoever, and the other being a prude. Sarah had never been very up to date with mainstream music, she had her small collection of cds - mostly from musicals and operas - and she was content with that. This band seemed to consist largely of growling and very loud singing.

_"Tell me exactly what am I supposed to do? Now that I have allowed you to beat me!"_

"So, Sarah." Keith said conversationally. "Done much acting?"

_"Do you think that we could play another game? Maybe I can win this time? I kind of like the misery you put me through..."_

"Huh?" said Sarah trying to tear her attention away from the loud music. Apparently the lovers' spat was done.

"_Darling, you can trust me completely. If you even try to look the other way,_

_I think that I could kill this time!"_

He turned it down so she could hear better.

"I said, have you ever been involved in theater?"

"Oh...umm..I used to be. A while ago. My mother is a well known broadway actress, and until I was about fifteen I was intent on being just like her. I took a lot of acting courses and was in a few plays, but it wasn't for me."

"What was the last play you did?"

"Not a full play exactly, my acting group was just doing one act plays, or scenes from a larger piece. My partner and I did a few scenes from a longer one. It was just a small audience. My mother didn't come."

"Sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. I was already starting to realize what a selfish person she was."

There was a long pause after that remark.

"_I will devour you, take all the pain away. I cannot stay my hand from reaching out so that I can empower you for all eternity.."_

"What was the play?" Ronan asked curiously.

She hesitated.

"The Labyrinth."

Keith frowned, thinking.

"Haven't heard of it."

"You probably wouldn't have, it was just an old book I found in the attic, my partner and I thought it was kind of neat."

"So why'd you give it up?"

"She came on stage naked and forgot her lines." Ronan said.

Sarah glared at him before answering Keith's question.

"It was just one of those things when you grow you suddenly realize that what you've been doing for so long is not actually something you want. I played that one last role, I played it well, spoke the words, and then it was over." she paused. There was that stirring in the back of her mind again, like a dream struggling to be remembered. "I mostly focus on writing and art these days. I like creating my own stories and places. Besides...I don't get on well with my mother anymore."

_"Your mind wont let you say that you want me. Your mind wont ever, never let you have what you want. I feel your hunger to taste me..."_

"Keith, either we listen to something else _now_ or I will keep you awake all night tonight with detailed descriptions about the formation of the cliffs in southern Ireland versus those found in northern Ireland and Scotland."

"Yes'm." he said humbly and switched to a radio station playing Vivaldi.

-------------------------

It was a very enjoyable evening. They had dinner at a nearby pub beforehand and Keith and Ronan were eager to make sure Sarah tasted some "real irish whiskey," which she did, sparingly, wanting to stay awake for the play. The school had a really great theater and the lighting and sets impressed even Sarah's experienced eyes. She sat with her new friends and happily watched the stunning array of brightly colored costumes and listened to the school's orchestra expertly playing the music.

Sometime during the first half of the performance, however, Sarah began to feel dizzy. Maybe it was the whiskey, or that ever present sensation of being watched, but she was feeling strange. Disconnected. She noticed that Bridget and Keith were holding hands, their fingers interlaced, and for some reason that made her uncomfortable. She tried to take slow breathes and hold out until the intermission. A wave of nausea hit her and she was desperate for some fresh air.

"I'm not feeling so hot." she whispered quietly to Bridget. "I'm just going to step outside for a few seconds, I'll be back."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Bridget asked, her brow creasing in worry.

"No, I'll be fine, I just...I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Someone can't hold their whiskey." Sarah heard Ronan snicker loudly as she tried to slip out discreetly. She turned and gave him a motion with a finger that just made him grin.

The cool air was a wonderful relief. She sank down on a bench, closed her eyes, and relished the chill on her hot skin. It had to be the sleep deprivation. What was wrong with her? She hadn't felt like herself since that morning two weeks ago. But the cool evening air felt good on her warm face. She sank down on a nearby bench and closed her eyes, slipping into a nauseated doze.

_"...Darkness stirs and wakes imagination . . .Silently the senses abandon their defences . . . Slowly, gently night unfurls its splendour . .."_

Sarah sighed. She was missing the play and she liked this scene, but the thought of going back and sitting surrounded by so many other people made her shudder.

_"Grasp it, sense it -tremulous and tender . . ._

_Turn your face away from the garish light of day..."_

But was she hearing the play? She frowned and forced her eyes open. The actor had a very beautiful voice, but it was the voice of one who was still learning to develop their talents and test themselves. This voice was richer, more confident, and it possessed all the sweet darkness and temptation that was the heart and soul of the song.

_"'Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams!"_

It couldn't have been the performance anyway, it didn't have the distant sound that it would have if she was hearing it from outside. She turned her head listening hard. She couldn't tell what direction it was coming from, it was almost like she was hearing it in her head.

_"...Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind, in this darkness which you know you cannot fight . . ."_

_What is happening to me? _She squeezed her eyes shut again and told her mind to be quiet. It wasn't. She started to actually hear the voice, the song floating to her from off to her right.

The voice was so familiar. It made her heart pound.

_"...Only then can you belong to me . . ."_

She hurried off into the dark. She had to see him with her own eyes, she needed to know if he did indeed exist or if she was truly losing her mind and regressing into a silly childhood fantasy.

"_Floating, falling, sweet intoxication! Touch me, trust me savour each sensation..."_

There! There was somebody laying draped across the top of the brick wall bordering one of the school's gardens. Clothed in black he looked as if he were a part of the night itself. A face turned to look at her and she strained hard to see the details of it as that sweet crooning voice continued singing.

She was completely lost in that voice.

_"Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in . . ."_

Something in his hand glittered and caught the light. She couldn't see his eyes, but she knew they were focused on her.

"Sarah?" she nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of her name. She turned to see Bridget and the others walking towards her. "There you are, we-" Sarah wasn't listening. She had glanced back just in time to see the figure vanish over the other side of the wall. She ran through the entrance and looked around quickly trying to see him, trying to see who he was.

Nobody was there. The garden was completely empty.

_I really am losing my mind._

"What are you doing?" Bridget asked walking in after Sarah.

"I thought I saw..." she looked around again. Definitely empty. "Never mind."

"Off at a rendezvous with the phantom?" Ronan asked. "Going on a hot date of cutting down chandeliers? That's usually best left for the third date I think. Any decent guy takes a girl out to dinner before he drops chandeliers for her."

"I'm not so certain it wasn't a phantom." Sarah murmured quietly to herself.

"What?"

"Nothing...nothing." she turned to the others and forced herself to smile. "Is it intermission already? Have I been gone that long?"

"Yeah, feeling okay?" Bridget asked.

Sarah nodded.

"Coming back for the second half, or do you have a music lesson with the phantom?" Ronan asked. "And could you see if he would give me lessons too? The bastard hasn't returned any of my calls, and I really think I'd make a damn better opera singer than Christine." He proceeded to sing "Angel of Music" in a horrible high pitched voice. This was made even worse when Keith felt the need to join in with his low bass voice. Sarah and Bridget were both in hysterics by the time the two boys were finished.

Despite the fact that she was still a little shaky, Sarah managed to sit through the last half of the performance, although she was distracted the whole time. Her mind kept slipping back to the singer on the garden wall. Who was he? How did he disappear like that?

She dozed for most of the drive back to Tarnathy, it was late and the sleep deprivation was pulling her under. Keith, thankfully, opted for some calmer music than earlier (mostly due to threats by Bridget), playing instead a mix of Depeche Mode that he managed to find under his seat, apologizing in advance if it started to skip. Sarah's mind slipped in and out of wakefulness, sometimes joining in with the quiet conversations before drifting off, the music playing gently in her ears.

_"Taken in by the delicate noise, knocked to the ground by the subtle thunder, shackled and bound by the sound of your voice, wandering around in silent wonder..."_

"I've never really found the end very believable." Keith was saying. "She turns down the phantom after having just met this new guy? He had been watching over her for so long and had helped her, and he was a hell of a lot more interesting than the other one." Keith was saying.

"She didn't _just_ meet Raoul, they were old childhood friends." Bridget pointed out. "She loved him.

"She should have loved the phantom. Raoul was a boring goody goody."

_"I'm going to take my time. I have all the time in the world to make you mine. It is written in the stars above. The gods decree ou'll be right here by my side right next to me. You can run, but you cannot hide..."_

"But she didn't love the phantom, she feared him."

"Don't you think it's possible to fear and love somebody at the same?" Ronan put in.

Sarah opened her eyes.

"It's the same old story of the beauty and the beast." Keith said. "Like Dracula, the darkness of him frightens but also tempts her, and she comes close to giving in." he snorted. "Then the brave prince of light comes and saves her and they live happily ever after and the monster either dies or goes back to his miserable existence."

_"I'll be waiting patiently till you see the signs and come running to my open arms. When will you realize? Do we have to wait till our worlds collide. Open up your eyes..."_

"Monsters want to be loved too!" Ronan cried.

"Well, most people don't really want to see something where wickedness wins out." Bridget said. "But really, stories don't always end like that. In beauty and the beast, the fairy tale, she falls in love with the beast."

"Yeah, but then he conveniently turns into a handsome prince."

"What about the tale of Adam and Eve? She certainly gave into temptation when the serpent told her about the apples."

"I once tried to feed an apple to my roommate's snake." Keith commented.

"You would." Bridget said.

"You're allowed to have pets in the dorm?" Sarah said, surprised.

"No."

"Did he eat it?"

"Nah, I tried to roll it around so it would look like a squirming rat, but he just looked at me like I was a moron."

"You _are _a moron." Ronan said as if stating the obvious. Keith tried to punch him but couldn't reach behind his seat.

The cd started to skip and Keith skipped it to the next track.

"Anyway," he said. "_Even_ if he was bit creepy and dangerous, I still think that the phantom was more dedicated in his love for her."

_"We're damaged people raying for something that doesn't come from somewhere deep inside us. Depraved souls trusting in the one thing, the one thing that this life has not denied us.."_

"Perhaps the price was too high." Sarah said softly. "Perhaps she felt responsible for what he did on the stage that night, his cutting the chandelier and poisoning the other actress, maybe she saw what he was capable of and knew that what he had done he had done for her. Maybe she knew that she had to stop him, and the only way to do that was to turn away from him."

There was a pause as they all considered this.

"Life would be too uncertain with a man such as that." Bridget said after awhile.

"Come on, you know if a mysterious, dark, seductive man appeared to you in the night you would give in to the darkness." Keith said.

"Haven't I already?" Bridget teased running her fingers through his black hair. He took her hand and squeezed it lovingly and they smiled at one another.

Ronan rolled down the window and pretended to vomit.

Sarah smiled but still felt a brief moment of sorrow and loneliness. She closed her eyes and drifted off again, lulled by the engine and the haunting sound of the next song.

_"You have bound my heart with subtle chains. So much pleasure that it feels like pain. So entwined now that we can't shake free. I am you and you are me..."_

It started raining again, pattering lightly on the roof and windows of the car. Sarah wondered if she would ever get used to the rain of Ireland. She was going to miss the snow.

_"No escaping from the mess we're in. So much pleasure that it must be sin. I must live with this reality. I am yours eternally...Dark obsession in the name of love, this addiction that we're both part of leads us deeper into mystery, keeps us craving endlessly..._

_Strange compulsions that I can't control, pure possession of my heart and soul,_

_I must live with this reality..._

"What is that Ronan?"

"Not sure, I found it in the garden where Sarah was chasing phantoms. It's kinda neat looking, perfectly smooth too, nicely balanced. Maybe I should take up contact juggling."

Sarah's eyes snapped open and she turned to see what it was and saw Ronan holding a perfect round crystal. Her body went numb. She watched Ronan as he played with it, tossing it back and forth and attempting to role it, unsuccessfully, along his wrist. He kept dropping it and Sarah had to stop herself from reaching out and snatching it.

By the time Sarah was dropped off in front of Morna's house Ronan had abandoned playing with it. As Sarah gathered her stuff she stealthily managed to slip it into her bag as she bid everybody goodnight and hiding it before anybody could notice.

Morna was dozing in her chair as Sarah walked as quietly as she could upstairs. She changed into her pajamas and washed her face. Finally, with a deep breath, she reached into her bag and lifted out the crystal sphere. It was lighter than she had imagined, she had never actually held one of them before, and she had always imagined they would be heavy. She walked to the window and gazed out, feeling the sleek smoothness of the object in her hand.

"This isn't possible. You're not real. None of it was real."

There was no reply, but the wind began to blow so hard that it rattled the window and the house seemed to shake. Sarah placed the crystal carefully on the windowsill and crawled into bed where she spent another restless night.

_**author's note**__: The following songs were quoted in this chapter:_

_by Disturbed: "The Game," "Devour," _

_by Depeche Mode: "The Sweetest Condition," "It's No Good," "Damaged People," "I Am You."_


	7. 06 Reading In The Dark

"_Words move, music moves_

_...Words, after speech, reach_

_Into the silence."_

_**Chapter Six - Reading In The Dark**_

__When Sarah entered the bookshop her wet boots squeaked on the already creaky wooden floor boards. It had been raining for a week straight and she was starting to get cabin fever. She had decided that it was high time to start on her research project. In other words, she wanted an excuse to browse the local bookstore and learn more about the local legends: sate her curiosity and distract her nervous mind.

Like many of the stores in Tarnathy it was fairly small, but that gave it a nice cozy feeling, and there was an aura of warmth and relaxation about the place. There were shelves and shelves of Irish literature and art books which - in addition to well-known writers such as Yeats and Jonathan swift - included some local writers and artists.

"Anything I can help you with miss?"

The voice came from behind and startled her so much she dropped a book that she was examining.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

The speaker was a short, brown-haired man who looked like he was in his early thirties. He had just come out of a back room awkwardly carrying a box which he set on the counter and started to unpack.

"No, it's alright. I've been a little...a little jumpy lately."

"Forgive me." he said politely, holding out his hand. "Peter Thomas."

She took his hand.

"Sarah Williams."

"Is there anything in particular you're looking for or just browsing?"

"Technically I'm here to look for books for a research project I'm supposed to work on for school. Really, though, I'm just browsing. At my rate I'll probably end up writing it the night before I leave, or when I get back."

He smiled. It was a very warm smile. Sarah liked him instantly.

"You would be a very rare student if you didn't put if off to the end. I teach over at Cork." he gestured to the box he had carried in. "I just got the shipment of textbooks for my will Romantic literature class I'll be doing after Christmas. I usually only do one class per term, it gives me the chance to do more personal writing, and I like running to store."

Sarah looked into the open box and picked up one of the heavy textbooks.

"Big book." she remarked.

"It's good for students to carry around a very heavy book of verse. It makes them into better human beings."

"Glad I don't have you for a professor." she said wryly.

She flipped through the book in her hand. It was full of the usual: William Wordsworth, Samuel Coleridge, William Blake, Lord Byron, etc.

"I had a class once that covered "Kubla Khan" for almost a week, talking about dreams and hallucinations." Sarah said. "My teacher said that if anyone was willing to eat raw meat and write about what they saw he would count that as an essay."

"Did you?" Peter laughed.

"Of course not! I already visit strange worlds in my dreams, the last thing I need is to make them worse with raw meat. Or drugs." she paused. "One boy asked if he could use opium instead, like Coleridge did. That was where my professor drew the line."

"Strange worlds huh? Have you written about them?"

She shook her head slowly. "People would think I was truly insane."

He laughed.

"Like none of these poets had a touch of insanity. John Clare claimed that he was Shakespeare, had delusions about being married to a childhood sweetheart, and eventually died in an asylum.'

'Now then; you said you had a paper to write. What are you researching?"

Sarah replaced the book in the box and thought for a moment.

"Well...local Irish customs and folklore...stuff like that.." she said lamely. "I haven't really come up with a thesis yet."

He scanned a shelf briefly before pulling out a book and handing it to her.

"This might be a good read."

She took it and read the title.

"'Reading in the Dark.'"

"It's by Seamus Deane. It won the Guardian Fiction Prize, and it has plenty about the history and myths of Ireland. So when you start considering the idea of writing that paper." he raised an eyebrow. "It might help. Feel free to sit and read for awhile if you wish. At least until the rain calms down. Unlikely, but you never know."

"Thanks." Sarah said idly flipping the pages before she began reading the introduction.

"I'm just going to shelve some books, call if you need anything."

She nodded and settled into one of the chairs that faced the window. She continued to read as Peter's footsteps moved to the back of the store.

She barely a few pages into the first chapter when a passage made her whole body go suddenly cold:

_"People with green eyes were close to the fairies, we were told; they were just here for a little while, looking for a human child they could take away. If we ever met anyone with one green eye and one brown eye we were to cross ourselves, for that was a human child that had been taken over by the fairies."_

Her heart started beating painfully in her chest.

_"The brown eye was the sign it had been human. When it died, it would go into the fairy mounds that lay behind the Donegal mountains, not to heaven, purgatory, limbo or hell like the rest of us."_

She reread the passage at least twice more before looking up from the book where her own grey-green eyes met her in the window, wide with fear in a pale face.

"Sarah?" she jumped and the book slid from her fingers.

"Are you alright?" Peter's voice was next to her, but it sounded like he was speaking from very far away. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."

"I..I just...umm...I need to go." she stood up quickly and grabbed the book from the floor. "How much? For the book?"

He looked at her face and frowned in concern.

"It's a gift."

Sarah murmured a hasty thanks before hurrying out into the rain without a backward glance.

--

It wasn't until she stood before the door that Sarah realized that she had run to Mrs. Mulligan's house. Barely knowing why she had gone there she pushed open the door to the tea room and stepped inside.

It was nearly empty. A couple of old men were playing cards at a table in the corner were the only customers. Sarah scanned the room until she spotted the old woman sitting in an armchair who watched as she walked over. They simply looked at one another for a long moment.

"You know something about Jareth don't you." Sarah's voice was barely above a whisper.

Mrs. Mulligan's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed.

"So it was you." her lips were pursed as she examined the shivering girl. "I guessed as much. Interesting."

She slowly lifted herself from the chair and walked to a nearby door.

"Come."

She lead Sarah out of the shop and through a hallway to what must have been her living room. A few coals were burning in a fireplace. When Mrs. Mulligan tossed a dry log in some flames reluctantly appeared. She gestured for Sarah to sit in one of the chairs close to the fire and handed her a thick woolen blanket which Sarah gratefully wrapped around herself. She left the room and returned shortly with two cups of steaming tea.

"Well." Mrs. Mulligan settled into a second chair and looked expectantly at Sarah as she gratefully sipped the hot liquid. "You can begin by telling me how you learned that name."

"Name?"

"The one you just spoke!"

"Jareth?"

"Stop saying it!" Mrs. Mulligan glared at Sarah. "How did you come to possess a name such as his?"

"I...I heard it. Hoggle said it."

"There you go again, tossing names around like they're nothing! How many more of them are you going to call here?"

"Them?"

"The spirits. The faeries. The _goblins_."

Neither of them spoke for a long time.

"You know, then." Sarah broke the silence at last. "You know who I'm talking about. You know who Ja-" she stopped herself.

Mrs. Mulligan covered her face with a hand and sighed.

"I suppose it's no use now. You've released him. Speak his name or stay silent, it makes no difference - he'll know where we are." she waved a hand, taking in the whole room. "He may even be listening to us right now."

Something in the back of Sarah's mind stirred like an animal suddenly alert. She shivered.

"Tell me how you know about him." Mrs. Mulligan's eyes narrowed.

Sarah's gaze moved away from the pair scrutinizing her and wandered to the window where the rain was making strange patterns on the glass. It was like the rain that had come down on that fateful night. All her denial faded away and she remembered the whole thing clearly down to every little detail. She took a deep breathe and started telling the story of her time in the Labyrinth for the first time since she was fifteen.

While Sarah spoke Mrs. Mulligan moved restlessly around the room. She placed more wood on the fire as needed, looked out the window, and occasionally examined a mirror in the corner as if hoping to see something other than a reversed image of the room. She stood unspeaking by the fire after Sarah finished her story. The light glowed eerily on her face as she frowned in thought.

"What I don't understand is why you're here." she said at last.

Sarah was puzzled.

"I came to talk to you, I hoped you..."

"That's not what I mean." snapped Mrs. Mulligan impatiently. "I mean, I wonder why you're here: aboveground. The mortal world. You ate their food while you were there. That's a well known method of theirs for trapping humans in their world. If you eat their food you can never leave again. You should belong to him."

Sarah shivered at those words.

"That's what puzzles me." Mrs. Mulligan's voice was soft. "Perhaps...perhaps you were able to use some sort of magic against his, but I've never heard of that being done before. Ever."

Sarah's hands were trembling so hard that she had to set her mug down on a nearby table.

"Do you...do you have any idea...why he's appeared here now?" Sarah managed at last.

"You said his name." Mrs. Mulligan. _I already told you that_, her tone implied.

"But I'm not the first person to say his name." Sarah insisted. "Morna just said it the other night, she said that most people in your family call him that. You must've said it many times yourself, haven't you?"

Mrs. Mulligan's back was to her now, but Sarah gathered from her silence that she was thinking. She picked up a poker and started shifting logs around in the fire.

"I have guesses from what I know about the old legends and superstitions." she paused. "I believe it may have something to do with intention. You had met the goblin king, you had faced him and you knew his face - his voice. When you said his name you knew exactly what it entailed, _who_ it was that owned that name. You had a clear image of _what_ he was. One of the most important things I've learned..." she straightened up and faced Sarah. "is to never underestimate how powerful intention can be."

"But I didn't intend to call him here!" Sarah insisted.

"Saying his name will have been enough. Saying his name and understanding it and the reality behind it. Clearly it was enough."

Mrs. Mulligan stared speculatively past Sarah.

"But you're not certain." Sarah said.

"No. I am not. Perhaps it has something to do with that peach you ate. Perhaps it's a result of something entirely else that I have not thought of, something I've overlooked." her brow furrowed in frustration. Then she sighed.

"Whatever it was, you unleashed him. Now he's here, and my guess is it's only a matter of time before he truly makes his presence known here. The last time he did terrible things happened. Disasters. Buildings fell for no reason, caught on fire. Crops perished, People died. Tarnathy was almost destroyed.

'Then it all stopped. People who swore that they had seen him after his death stopped seeing him out of the corners of their eyes, or thinking that they had caught a glimpse of him in the shadows. He was gone, and everything settled back into the way it had been. He became just another old story that's told around here."

Sarah felt a sick desperation as she imagined the harm she may have inadvertently brought down on her new friends.

"I will have to think on this further. I will do my best to help you contain what you have released."

Mrs. Mulligan's voice shook with anger. The sound of it made Sarah wince.

The old lady walked to the door and held it open. Sarah understood that this talk was over.

"For now...try to be careful. Be on your guard and _be careful of what you say._"

_What's said is said._

She shivered as she pulled on her coat, fearful of the future.

--

The walk back to Morna's house was agonizing for Sarah. Every little movement seemed to be the movement of something sinister stalking her. She felt a small amount of relief when she made it safely up to her small bedroom. She knew better than to think for an instant that something like a window could protect her from him, but the walls gave her a small illusion of safety. She changed for bed, her hands still trembling from fear. She crawled into the bed and pulled the covers up over her head like she had done as a little girl, hiding from the nightmares.

Her pillow made a strange crackling noise. Nervously she reached underneath it. Her hand found a piece of paper. She had not left it there, of that she was certain. She turned the lamp on to examine it.

It was a page, a poem torn out of a book.

_An Invite, to Eternity_

_Wilt thou go with me, sweet maid,_

_Say, maiden, wilt thou go with me_

_Through the valley-depths of shade,_

_Of night and dark obscurity;_

_Where the path has lost its way,_

_Where the sun forgets the day,_

_Where there's nor life nor light to see,_

_Sweet maiden, wilt thou go with me!_

_Where stones will turn to flooding streams,_

_Where plains will rise like ocean waves,_

_Where life will fade like visioned dreams_

_And mountains darken into caves,_

_Say, maiden, wilt thou go with me_

_Through this sad non-identity,_

_Where parents live and are forgot,_

_And sisters live and know us not!_

_Say, maiden; wilt thou go with me_

_In this strange death of life to be,_

_To live in death and be the same,_

_Without this life or home or name,_

_At once to be and not to be -_

_That was and is not -yet to see_

_Things pass like shadows, and the sky_

_Above, below, around us lie?_

_John Clare_

She recognized the page as having been torn out of one of the Romantic literature textbooks she had looked at in the bookstore.

An offering? Or a threat? Sarah didn't know, but she was frightened.


	8. 07 Between the Worlds

"_In that open field_

_If you do not come too close, if you do not come too close,_

_...you can hear the music_

_Of the weak pipe and the little drum_

_And see them dancing around the bonfire..._

_The time of the seasons and the constellations_

_The time of milking and the time of harvest..."_

_**Chapter Seven - Between the Worlds**_

When Sarah woke on the morning of October 31st, her eyes were greeted by a golden world shining outside her window. After a week straight of grey rain the sky was a perfectly clear blue. The golden autumn light filtering through the yellow leaves gave the morning a radiant glow. She moved to the window and opened it, closing her eyes blissfully as the cool crisp air swept in. For the first time in what felt like ages she had slept through the night and felt rested, it was as if her invisible watcher had finally turned his eyes away, if only for one night. She spent most of the following hour just sitting in her room basking in the peace, soaking up the energy of the day. She felt a strange trembling anticipation, something she hadn't really felt since she was little. When the cool air finally made her shiver she reached out and closed her window and began a search in the piles of clothes for something to wear.

As she was buttoning a pair of jeans she realized that somebody was singing...and that singer was right outside her window. She snatched a shirt from the chair and yanked it on over her head before throwing the window open again.

Ronan. Somehow he had managed to climb onto the roof and now stood there moving his arms dramatically as if conducting an orchestra. He was belting out what Sarah was pretty sure was "that damn song," Bridget hated so much. She was beginning to understand why she called it that.

"Ronan...what the hell are you doing?! How did you get up here, and would you _please_ get back from the edge before you fall and break your neck and I get blamed for it and deported back to the U.S.?!"

He held up a hand to silence her, cleared his throat as if he had something important to say, then continued singing.

"Why exactly are you on my roof?" she interrupted loudly.

"I'm singing."

"My question was _why, _not what."

"Bridget told me to 'either get the hell out or stop singing for the love of anything and everything considered holy.' So I came here."

"Okay. That explains the singing. Why are you on the roof?"

"Why not?"

"Don't worry!" Morna called up cheerfully from the porch below. "I've got it taken care of."

Morna picked up the end of a hose and blasted a spray of icy water at the roof. Sarah ducked back into the room as Ronan let out a shriek that sounded like an enraged cat and came flying through the window, tumbling gracelessly into Sarah's room.

"That woman is psychotic."

It took Sarah a few minutes to stop laughing and catch her breath enough to speak. God it felt good to laugh. She had been so sick with dread since that day in the bookstore. It felt like she had forgotten how to relax.

"Like singing on a person's roof early in the morning is completely normal."

He gave a disdainful sniff, nursing his wounded pride. "_Most_ girls would _enjoy_ being serenaded upon waking."

"Your definition of serenading and mine are very different."

"And how many times have you actually had somebody sing to you?"

Sarah didn't answer the question. Instead she busied herself looking for a pair of socks. Ronan continued to sit there, seeming to be waiting for answer. Sarah searched harder than was really necessary for a pair thick black socks.

She straightened up when she heard the creak of Ronan's steps retreating from the room. That was when she noticed the mirror.

There was a large full length mirror that was fastened to the wall next to the chest of drawers. The first thing that Sarah had done when she arrived was cover it with a sheet. Large mirrors creeped her out now, especially ones that faced her bed like this one did. Long after she had given up trying to call to her friends they still made her feel paranoid that there could be somebody watching her from the other side. She had had to start covering her mirror in order to sleep, or do anything in her room for that matter. Naturally, when she got here the first thing she had had to do before she could sleep was cover that mirror.

Every day since the morning where she had said his name she had woken up to find the sheet in a crumbled pile on the floor and the clear glass of the mirror staring mockingly at her. Every morning she covered it again only to wake up the following day to find that it had come uncovered.

She was surprised this morning to discover that the sheet was still in place over the mirror. She stared at it for a moment, perplexed. Why did everything feel so normal today? She had thought that Halloween would be even worse than all the other days had been.

Had he decided to leave her alone? Unlikely. Maybe he was biding his time. Or toying with her.

Her hand reached out and grasped the edge of the sheet. Years ago, when she still hoped her friends would come to her she had looked up every kind of myth and folklore she could find about mirrors, namely in regards to spirits. She had read somewhere that mirrors were considered gateways to the spirit realm. There was an old tradition that on Halloween the doors between the physical world and spirit worlds were wide open and covering mirrors was the only way to keep those particular gateways closed.

Her hand began to tremble. If she pulled the sheet away would she anything? Would she see her friends? Would she see _him_? She felt as if somebody were watching her - standing right behind her and waiting to see what she would do.

Her hand jerked and the sheet fell away. The mirror revealed the room and her own wide-eyed self staring back at her, and nothing else. No, not nothing else - Ronan was standing in her doorway watching her with that curiously serious expression she had seen on occasion. He raised an eyebrow when she noticed him.

"Expecting somebody else?" he asked.

Amusement flickered in his eyes and he looked like his usual self again.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Two minutes and fifty-six seconds. Fifty-seven. Fifty-eight."

He smirked and slipped out of the room. Sarah glanced at the sheet and covered the mirror before following him out.

When they got downstairs Morna was humming and bustling around the kitchen as if nothing had happened. Ronan kept a wary eye on her and stayed close to Sarah. Sarah suspected that if Morna tried anything Ronan would use her as a human shield.

"Your sister called." Morna told Ronan calmly. "She assumed that you had come over here to torment Sarah. She said that they're setting up for the bonfire and the two of you should go and meet her there."

"Right." Ronan gave her a wide berth as he hurried through the kitchen and out the front door.

"Don't get into trouble." Morna called after Ronan.

"Like I would do anything else after getting sprayed with a hose." Ronan said indignantly.

--

"Do you think we should help him?" Sarah asked Bridget as they ate the ginger cake and cider they had bought for their breakfast.

Bridget shrugged as they watched Ronan being chased down the street by an old woman and a barking dog.

"I don't know what he did, but he probably deserves whatever she's planning on doing to him. Besides, Madge's dog hasn't been capable of biting for years. He used to chew rocks. Now he can't chew anything."

Sarah and Bridget were leaning against a tree watching the excitement going on in the town. It looked as if every single person had come out and were playing games, buying and selling food, showing off crafts, or just enjoying an excuse to relax and gossip. Whatever qualms the community may have once had about the old pagan festivals were gone.

Sarah was delighted. Halloween had stopped being interesting for her as soon as she had become too old for trick or treating. Sure, there were haunted houses, and her schools always held dances, but those dances were just like any other except the boys were wearing masks and a lot of the girls used it as an excuse to show off as much flesh as possible and pass it off as a costume. What she was seeing now was a true celebration of the season and the old traditions.

She eagerly looked up to the top of a hill just beyond the town near the edge of the forest where a large pile of wood stood and was getting bigger and bigger as people added to it. Bridget had told her that the bonfire would be lit at sunset, and after that the festivities would truly begin. She glanced at Bridget and was surprised by the grin she saw there. There was a glow to Bridget's face that Sarah had never seen there before. It made her look younger and less serious.

"You're in a good mood." Sarah observed.

"It's Halloween! There are ghosts and spirits abroad, it's a night for mischief!"

Sarah was surprised by her friends answer and excited face.

"I thought you didn't believe any of this stuff."

"I don't...not really. But it's like Christmas isn't is? I mean, as you get older you _know_ there isn't really a Santa Claus, but it's nice to pretend you do, at least for a little while: to feel a sense of magic. Whether you actually believe it or not doesn't matter, there's still the excitement at the _idea_ that there are ghosts and monsters and other scary things prowling around for just one night."

"Never underestimate how much being frightened can be." Sarah commented.

"Besides, the bonfire is just plain _fun_. You'll see. Everyone dresses up, and people bring instruments and play music and everyone dances. I've seen some neighbors who must be in their nineties doing a jig."

Sarah sincerely hoped she would get to see that.

"Come on, let's walk around." Bridget suggested. "There's plenty going on today that you should see."

Bridget was right. Sarah loved looking at absolutely everything, and she spent hours just going to all the different stalls that were setting up and talking to all the different people. Ronan occasionally appeared and would then disappear again for a while only to emerge, seemingly, out of thin air.

Sarah bought some thick white wool yarn and a pair of elaborately carved knitting needles from a girl about her age who worked on one of the local farms. Sarah had fun just watching her as she worked at a spinning wheel, her practiced fingers spinning a bag of wool into thin delicate looking yarn. She let Sarah try it, but under Sarah's fingers the fibers kept breaking and what little yarn she managed to make was thick in some areas and thread thin in others.

They lingered for a particularly long time at a stall full of hand-made masks. Most of them were small, simple things for covering the eyes and cheekbones, painted brilliant colors, some with feathers or little jewels glued on them, kind of like Mardi Gras masks. Others were more elaborate and covered most of the face, painted masterfully to look like the face of some sort of wood or river spirit with fabric tied and glued elegantly in places. The most intriguing one covered the entire head and was in the shape of a crow's head, complete with black feathers carefully glued all over it, and he had used little red glass beads to give it sinister red eyes, the real eye holes being placed much lower and weren't very noticeable.

Bridget looked amused as the seller used a low spooky voice to warn them that if they didn't wear masks the faeries would come and steal them away, but if they bought one of his very fine pieces it would confuse them and they would be safe tonight. Sarah allowed herself to be talked into buying one - a simple white mask with an elaborate grey green celtic knot twisting around the eye holes and swooping perfectly all across the mask. Bridget said it brought out the color of her eyes.

And on it went: there were so many different things to look at and lots of interesting foods to try. There was even a a man from Scotland selling haggis. Sarah tried a bite and vowed to herself that she would never do that again. Ronan roared with laughter at the face that she made.

Mrs. Mulligan was selling loose teas but Sarah decided to avoid her table. She could feel the old woman's eyes following her.

Near the end of the afternoon Sarah found herself alone at one particular stall. Bridget had gone off to find Keith and Ronan had disappeared at some point. Again. This table was full of strange looking charms, stones, hand-carved wands, and blades with wooden handles. The sight of these things started making Sarah feel nervous, but she stopped anyway to look at some of the items. The wizened old woman selling the items just looked at her, and any attempt at conversation Sarah tried was answered with silence. Sarah picked up a wand and nervously examined the ogham letters carved into the side. She wanted to ask what they said but knew it was useless.

She was about to leave and look for her friends when the strange old woman suddenly pulled something out from under the table and pushed it firmly into Sarah's hand. Sarah looked down at the item in surprise and then fear. It was a silver knife with a carved wooden handle. The blade was unscratched and polished so clean that Sarah could clearly see her face reflected in it. Carved into the dark brown wood of the handle was a labyrinth.

"Is it an athame?" Sarah tried to sound casually interested. She had had a few wiccan friends at school who had athames and had explained how they were used solely for directing energy in rituals.

"Just a knife." The old woman said. "You might need it."

"Why?" The question was little more than a whisper.

"The wood is blackthorn." she said, not answering the question.

"It's...nice." Sarah said awkwardly. "A...very nice wood."

The woman looked at Sarah as if she were being stupid. Sarah flushed and handed the knife out to the woman. She didn't take it. She just continue to watch Sarah.

All the fear and uncertainty that Sarah had managed to banish during the day was rising up inside her again. She put the knife down on the table clumsily. The edge was sharp and nicked her finger. She swore silently to herself.

"It's yours." The woman insisted.

"Thank you very much, but I don't really have a use for it." Sarah said firmly and walked quickly away. She was finding it hard to breath and she put her hand on her chest trying to calm her heart.

It was a great relief when Ronan was suddenly at her side, and up ahead she could see Bridget and Keith walking hand in hand toward them.

"Had a run in with the local weirdos?" Ronan asked her cheerfully.

"Who _was _she?"

"I have no idea."

Sarah looked at him in surprise. He just shrugged.

"People sometimes come from out of town for the bonfire. She could be from anywhere. She was certainly creepier than Mrs. Mulligan is."

"Yes," Sarah agreed. "A hell of a lot creepier."

She pressed a hand to her for-head where a headache was beginning to form.

--

Sarah had dinner with Morna that evening. It was a simple meal: boiled potatoes, cabbage, a little bit of lamb. Morna assured Sarah that there was going to be plenty of good stuff to eat at the bonfire. Bridget and Ronan had promised to come by around sunset and they would walk to the bonfire together.

Sunset was still hours away so Sarah decided to take a nap. Her headache had gotten worse and she just wanted to lie down for a little while, especially if there was going to be so much going on tonight. She took some pain killer and stretched out on her bed. Despite the pain she was asleep almost instantly.

She dreamt about a door. It looked invisible, like nothing more than sky and tree branches and roots, she could only see it because the light of the setting sun - a glowing red - was reflecting off of the edges. Shadows were spilling out. She watched them moving outwards, spreading as if some bright light were being cast from the other side. As each one passed over the threshold it became clearer, more real, made of actual flesh and not just suggestions of forms. They had faces, little glowing eyes and voices that gibbered and squeaked and hissed to one another.

Sarah's head was in agony. She knew she was asleep and wondered why she wasn't waking up.

The largest shadow of all came through and stretched elegantly like a cat waking up; the vague shape of limps solidified into muscle and flesh and the body and head rippled outwards. The red light flared brightly around him. All the shadows creatures turned and walked down the hill.

A flare of pain and Sarah was awake. The moment she was the headache seemed to slowly disintegrate. She opened her eyes and could tell from the light that the sun was close to setting, perhaps within the hour. She could hear Bridget and Ronan on the path outside, arguing about something. Keith was with them - she could hear him laughing and egging them on.

Sarah hurriedly pushed back the covers and changed into a white flowey shirt and a pair of black pants. She pulled the mask on, regarded her reflection. The mirror had been uncovered again. She tried to put that fact and the memory out of her mind as hurried downstairs to join her friends. The sight of them cheered her up instantly.

Bridget was wearing a mask made up of brown oak leaves, which Sarah suspected she had pressed and glued together herself and a brown turtle-neck. The colors looked wonderful with her hair and her blue eyes seemed to glow. Keith was dressed as Zorro in a black mask and cape: he even had a black sombrero that he swept off in an elegant bow when Sarah entered the room.

Ronan had dressed in all black but had spiked his red hair up with some sort of gel.

"Where's your mask?" Sarah asked him.

He grinned and pulled on a fox mask that grinned slyly at her. It looked an awful lot like Ronan himself.

--

The sun had set by the time the four of them reached the bonfire. The sight of it nearly made Sarah halt in her tracks. It was so wild and primal looking, as if she had stepped back over a thousand years to some ancient pagan ceremony, which was felt all the more because everywhere she looked was a person in a brilliant and strange costume, their identity hidden by a mask. There were tables of food with piles of apples, pies, barrels of cider, and all manner of things that Sarah couldn't identify. There were several musicians playing loud festive tunes on fiddles, flutes, and even somebody holding a small frame drum that they were hitting so energetically with a mallet that his hand was a blur. She was pulled by her fox-faced friend into the crowd of people dancing and she lost herself instantly in the revelry.

Eventually Sarah found herself leaning against one of the tables breathing hard and grinning. She had lost sight of her friends for the moment, but she wasn't too concerned. She would have a much needed drink and then find them, or they would find her. She pulled her mask off and wiped her brow. The heat from the fire had begun to make her sweat. She looked around for one of the tables with beers and other drinks.

"May I offer you a drink?" A voice asked her pleasantly. Behind her was young man carrying a bottle full of an amber liquid and a stack of cups - at least she assumed he was a young man, his face was hidden by a goblin mask. The sight of it made her shudder.

"Is something wrong?" he asked curiously.

"No...nothing."

A girl in a butterfly mask appeared and eagerly took a cup from him which he filled with the liquid from the bottle. As the girl disappeared he offered her a cup again.

"What is it?"

"Mead. Honey wine."

Sarah had never tasted mead before and was curious. She hesitated, but accepted the cup and let him fill it part way. She sniffed the sweet fragrance before taking a slow sip.

The drink was sweet and thick and burned pleasantly down her throat, to creating a small fire inside her.

She opened her eyes to comment on it, but the goblin masked person was gone, presumably to offer it to some of the other dancers. Her eyes wandered aimlessly over the people around her, idly looking for her friends. Her attention fell on a person standing several feet away, a cup held lightly in his hand as well. He had been watching the dancers, but now he turned and met Sarah's gaze. He was wearing a cloak that was a very rich shade of red, under which he appeared to be wearing all black, but in this dark it was hard to be sure. His mask was bone-white and in the shape of two wings that extended up over his face with the tips sweeping down to cover his cheekbones. Even from this distance Sarah could see the feather pattern carved elegantly on its surface.

"What're you drinking?" Keith's voice came suddenly from beside her and she jumped. Keith and Bridget had found her and were holding cups of their own.

"Mead. It's not bad."

"Ugh. Too sweet for me. Give me a good lager any day." Keith took a long drink from the cup in his hand.

Sarah shrugged and took another sip.

"I think it's pretty good."

"Be careful, you know what they say about mead."

"No. What do they say about mead?"

"That it's the drink of desire."

"Neil Gaiman compared it to a diabetic's piss." Ronan said from Sarah's other side. "I drank some last year. Apparently what I desire is a toilet bowl, seeing as I spent half the night and most of the following day vomiting and begging God to just kill me on the spot."

"And when you say some you mean almost an entire bottle." Bridget retorted.

Ronan shrugged. "Details, details."

When they finished their drinks they made their way back to the bonfire. As the night went on the dancing felt like it became more and more surreal to Sarah. It was like a whirlwind: one moment she would be dancing with one masked person, then somebody else, then another and another, every person just a blurred impression of the mask that they wore: bird masks, a deer mask, a green-man, a simple black covering, the large crow mask she had seen earlier that day...and Sarah herself felt like some sort of disembodied spirit in her mask, as anonymous as the rest of them.

Then she was in the arms of the man in the white mask and red cloak. The second his hands had closed on her arms she felt as if her vision had sharpened on him while the rest of the world became completely blurred. His slow sharp smile showed that he was very aware of the effect he was having on her and was enjoying it. Unease pricked the back of Sarah's mind but she didn't try to pull away or escape. He leaned forward to brush a mere hint of a kiss on her lips, the smell of him overwhelming, stirring a sweet desire in her. Then he released her and faded into the crowd.

She felt very dizzy. Even though the man was gone, the rest of the world continued to be blurred and strange. The burning the mead had caused in her stomach instead of dying down was increasing. The gentle little fire it had made inside her was turning into a painful blaze. The sight of the bonfire and the people dancing around in their masks coupled with that burning...she didn't feel surprised that superstitious people thought that such celebrations were evil and demonic. It was getting harder to think straight.. Sometimes she thought she caught a glimpse of a fiery, but it was just another mask, or over there she saw a dwarf, but it was just some old man sitting down.

She felt as though she might be sick.

Maybe if she ate something it would help. Eating always helped when she had drunk too much, and this was surely just a result of the mead. She hadn't eaten much before drinking it and it must have gone to her head. She slowly made her way over to a table with a large bowl of apples, feeling glad that nobody else was around to see the state that she was in. She took a large piece of fruit from the bowl and bit into it. She nearly choked in surprise: the texture and taste was wrong, nothing like an apple. She looked down in shock to see a peach clutched in her hand. Where the hell had that come from? There had not been any other sort of fruit in that bowl: just apples, and she was sure that she had felt the smooth waxy skin of an apple when she picked it up.

She was feeling worse now. The light of the fire in her eyes and the constant movements of the dancers - she couldn't even make out masks or people anymore - made her feel made her head spin and she felt as if she were falling. She moved away until the sounds of the revelers had died off and she found herself alone in a grove of trees. Everything was calm here, the only sound or movement came from the leaves rustling in the breeze. It helped. Sarah grasped a nearby tree for support, her drugged mind was swimming and she tried hard to stop herself from hyper-ventilating. Her left arm hung limply by her side, still holding the peach with the one bite taken from it.

_Ohgodohgodohgod..._she started taking deep desperate breaths. Her skin was crawling and burning. The very stars seemed to be quivering above her. She wished the world would be still for just a moment.

"Here's a familiar sight." a voice drawled. Sarah looked up slowly, trying to focus. "Poor little lost girl in the woods unable to handle the taste of desire."

It was the man in the red cloak, leaning idly against one of the other trees - but she knew who he truly was. How could she have been so stupid? The mask had been discarded and she saw his full face, the hard, cruel features were exactly as she remembered them. He swept the cloak of his shoulders as he took several slow predatory steps forward until he stood before her. He was dressed entirely in black from his tight breeches to a silken shirt that looked thin and feather-light, as if the chill cold didn't affect him. The dark clothing made his pale white-blonde hair stand out all the more, seeming to glow in the light of the moon. His crescent pendant glinted at his throat. His mismatched eyes - one green one brown - regarded her.

"You." she whispered.

His smirk turned into a grin, sharp teeth flashing.

"You've been following me."

"Have I?"

"I knew it had to be you."

"You invited me." he said matter-of-factly.

"I didn't."

"You did, you spoke my name and you called me here. So here I am." his smile was slow and wicked.

"I wasn't calling you. I said your name because I was thinking out loud about what Morna had told me."

He shrugged. "What's said is said."

"I didn't call. I didn't mean that."

"You never considered the power of your words, and clearly you haven't changed in that respect, which is no fault of mine. If I see an advantage, and I take it."

He lifted a hand and the nausea from the drink hit her hard again and her eyes closed as her knees buckled. Before she could recover herself he sprang like a cat after a bird and pinned her against the tree.

She groaned as a sweat broke out on her skin. She tried to turn her face away as his scent overwhelmed her for the second time that night.

"Oh dear, are you ill? Well, I suppose that's to be expected. You've never been able to face your own desires, instead you fight and run away. Foolish, really, to think you can escape from dreams."

Watching her he pulled off each of his black leather gloves and tossed them aside. He ran a burning finger along her cheekbone.

"It nearly worked you know." he murmured thoughtfully. "Your friends tried so hard to protect you from me."

Sarah opened her eyes.

"My friends?"

"They knew me too well, and they were desperate to prevent me from getting near you. Who would have thought a silly little girl could inspire such devotion in that greedy little dwarf."

He leaned forward and inhaled deeply - a hunter savoring the smell of its cornered prey.

"There little trick could have worked, but they clearly did not consider what power your desire could have."

His lips hovered above her ear. "Perhaps if they had seen your little dream they would have taken it into consideration."

He nipped her and she gasped. "But they didn't, and here we are."

She tried futilely to break from his arms and race back to the fire - to her friends, to the false security of the mundane world - but he held her firmly.

His closeness was intoxicating and she was finding it harder and harder to think clearly.

"What do you want from me?" she forced her head up, her eyes blazing as she fought for control of her mind.

He ran a hand down her cheek, creating a sweet little trail of fire. It continued down to brush against her throat and moved to her shoulder. His eyes glittered wickedly.

"What I have always wanted."

With a gentleness she had never seen in him before he eased her coat off. The cold night air on her bare arms instantly made her shiver.

"And I _will_ win this time."

His hands stroked her arms with a feather light touch, even as she stiffened at his words. Smoothly she was pulled into his arms and laid down on the grass. She cried out as his teeth lightly grazed her neck.

"Yield to me." his husky voice whispered in her ear. She was shivering, no longer from just the cold, and trying not to weep from the pain of her inner struggle. She wanted to pull away, be angry at everything he had done to her, everything he was _doing_ to her, from her ordeal in the Labyrinth to the fear he had been causing her here. She didn't want to give in to him.

His hand moved down to caress the bare skin of her stomach, just barely under the hem of her shirt, and his fingers were hot on her chilled flesh. They moved up even further caressing as they went, pausing just below her bra. At last he moved beneath the fabric to cup her breast and she let out a sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan. She could feel his mouth on her cheek as it curled up into a fierce smile.

"Why are you fighting me?" his mouth was against her ear. "You can't pretend. Your dreams betray you. And you dream of me."

His hand continued its travels along the cold flesh of her body, teasing, soothing, burning. All was lost.

"Please." Her voice was a trembling sob.

"Please what, Sarah?" he kissed her ear. "Please touch you?" his lips moved achingly slow across her cheek. "Please kiss you?" he kissed the corner of her mouth. "Make love to you?" This last part was whispered sensually against her lips before capturing her mouth deeply with his own. Her hands tangled in his hair she pulling him hard against her resistance crumbled, returning and intensifying the kiss. Too soon the kiss was broken and he pulled back to look hard at her. His eyes were dark with desire and they roamed over the image of her pinned beneath him, her face flushed from the passionate kiss.

"Please _what_?" he repeated, holding her firmly so that she could neither move away or pull him back down again. He leaned in close. "I want to hear you _say it_!"

"I want..." she gasped as his hand moved down her thighs.

"What do you want?" His fingers found her and she let out a desperate shuddering moan.

"_What_ do you _want?_" he repeated harshly.

The flame that had begun simply enough with the drink had turned into an inferno.

"Say it!"

"_I want you_." The confession felt as if it had been torn from her throat.

He kissed her deeply, fiercely, and she kissed him back desperately. He deftly removed the rest of her clothing and she found she no longer felt the cold. All she felt was him. His shirt slid off easily as water and the rest of his clothing followed. Time seemed to stand still as he entered her, both of them breathing deep shuddering breaths. Sarah's eyes closed at the the feeling of him, the man she had feared, defied, and now...

"Open your eyes, Sarah." his voice was husky. "I want you to look at me when I take you."

Her eyes opened and locked with his.

Sarah was not a virgin. She had tried having sex a couple of times with boys she had dated, but the most she ever felt was a fleeting pleasure. The first time she had actually felt bored. None of those moments could have ever compared to the passionate glory of this moment. His hands and lips and teeth found the sensitive places that would send thrills of pleasure through her. Every part of her felt so alive, to be here, to be with this man, to experience the things that he was making her feel, the knowledge that it was him...

Afterward they laid quietly together for what felt like hours, but was maybe only minutes. It didn't really matter. It truly felt like a night outside of time. When the cold began to seep into Sarah's body he wordlessly pulled his cloak securely around them both and held her close to the warmth of his chest. He held her body as it shook from a combination of the cold and the pleasure lingering within her. He kissed her lips, her closed eyes, her throat, and she clung to him matching him kiss for kiss. The raging passion spent their kisses were gentler now, almost shy, and tears began to form in Sarah's eyes. He lowered himself into her and with a soft sigh they made love again, slower this time, taking the time to savor the pleasure and experience the sweet joy of one another's flesh.

How many times they came together that night Sarah would never remember. Everything blurred together into one long memory of passion, and of the thrill of flesh on flesh.

_--_

The full moon glowed a brilliant orange gold as it rose above the trees, illuminating two intertwined figures, wrapped together and deeply asleep. The branches of a large tree swept out and over the two sleepers as if to shelter and protect them. Neither stirred as the moon slowly cooled to a gentle silver and moved slowly across the sky.


	9. A note from the author

Hello everybody,

I just want to clear up a bit of confusion: no, the story is not finished yet. I know it's been a very long time since I updated, but I have a bit of a block at the moment: I know what's happening at the beginning of the next chapter and how the story ends, but fleshing out the inbetween has been harder than I thought. That and dealing with the real world of finding a job and having my free time sucked up by stuff has made things somewhat difficult. I do sincerely hope I will finish it at some point.

-CailleachOidhcheGhael


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